


High Flight

by ThatOnePlatypus



Series: on laughter-silvered wings [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Communication, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), M/M, One Night Stands, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-11-01 21:17:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOnePlatypus/pseuds/ThatOnePlatypus
Summary: Dumbledore thinks Harry is in Spain with the Dursleys. The Dursleys thinks he's spending the summer with 'his lot'. And maybe Harry feels a little guilty about lying to them and to his friends about his whereabouts. But if they don't want to tell him what's going on with Voldemort, then he doesn't have to tell them he's taken up stunt-biking, right ? Harry-is-Skull AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is an old-ish fic from my FFnet account that I decided to upload here as I intend to post a spin off soon. Updates will be frequent, about twice per week, if not more frequent, since it's already finished.  
> Please do mind the tags, they'll be updated with each chapter. Please read the ANs, as they often contain valuable information.
> 
> A few pairings will be mentioned later on, and will be tagged accordingly, but no couple will be 'endgame', as romance is not the focus of this story. Neither is, surprisingly perhaps given the trope, the 'reveal'. It's all about the transition of Harry's character, his development, and what I would have LIKED to read in a fic like this. A.k.a his family, his friends, and his own journey.
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry closed his eyes for what seemed like an hour, and yet lasted for less than a second, relishing in the lack of gravity, the air whistling around him, the  _freedom_.

He was flying, and it was glorious.

Then, a second later, his eyes were open again, though not visible beneath the helmet he wore. In a move that made the audience catch their breath, he twisted his body, up, and up, until his hands were the only things holding his bike. Harry felt a thrill as his body found the perfect curve, his spine angling itself almost naturally, and he stood on his hands, in the air, on a spinning motorbike.

He was defying gravity itself, and tempting death in the same move.

It was exhilarating.

Then gravity pulled again, and he fell back in place, legs hooking his bike as they landed heavily. Not caring for the shock that had braced him a little, Harry carried on, pushing his bike further as he sped towards yet another ramp. The audience, already wild and breathless, roared when he took to the skies again. Grinning under his helmet, Harry let go completely of his bike, launching himself high up in the air too. The audience gasped. He spun on himself, doing three back-flips with almost no mistake –  _almost,_  he thought, he would have to work on it again.

Then, with a grace that only came with hard work, and an ease in the air that came from his blood, he caught his bike again, and landed in the arena, doing a full round before stopping, tires screeching. He stood on his bike and saluted. Unseen under his helmet, he grinned when the audience went wild, cheering and whooping, and some even throwing popcorn in amazement. Hell, Harry could see one woman two steps away from removing her top.

With an inward snort of bemusement, Harry bowed again, before driving out of the arena on the back wheel only.

As he disappeared behind the curtains, cutting the motor, he could hear the audience cheering still, and the presenter urging them on.

"Skull, Ladies and Gentlemens !" He roared, in heavily accented English, "The incredible, amazing,  _crazy_  stuntman ! Another round of applause !"

Harry snorted, this time audibly, as he parked his bike on a side. Leaving it there to cool a little, he started moving further to the back, waving at a grinning Ulrich, one of the acrobats, as he went.

Crazy stuntman was right. What Harry did was certainly not something that most people would consider safe and relaxing. Yet, there wasn't a time or place when he felt more at ease than when he was flying through the air, hanging by a mere hand to his bike, soaring higher and higher.

It was in his blood, to fly. He knew that, had known since he was eleven and had made the Quidditch team for being a natural on a broom. His father had been the same, or so Sirius had told him.

Harry smiled to himself, as he thought of Sirius, and his enchanted flying motorcycle. Clearly, despite the fact that the man hadn't raised him, something must have passed down to him anyway. Because Harry was as much a natural on a bike, especially one that went in the air, as he was playing Quidditch.

Maybe, the teenager thought to himself, he should tell his godfather about it, the next time he heard from him. Sirius would like it, wouldn't it ? He would understand it, certainly.

 _Would he_  ? A treacherous little voice whispered in his mind, infusing him with guilt.  _Would he like the fact that you are putting yourself – everyone – in danger on a whim ? Irresponsible._

But Harry only allowed himself a few seconds of guilt before he stamped the voice down with fury.

Irresponsible ?  _Irresponsible ?!_  Leaving him,  _alone_ , with no news, after Voldemort had kidnapped him and used him to return to life was irresponsible ! Making him feel so abandoned, so loveless, was irresponsible ! Leaving him at his  _Aunt's_  home, where he wasn't wanted, with the expectation that they would once more take him in and no questions asked –  _that_  was irresponsible.

Yeah, that had worked wonderfully, Harry thought bitterly to himself. He waved at Daniela, the tamer, as he went by, the woman grinning at him fondly. More fondly than his so-called family had ever looked at him. Where were his  _relatives,_  now ? Nowhere in sight, that was where.

The Dursleys had taken a holiday in Spain – a two months long holiday.

Harry, of course, hadn't been invited.

Still, they couldn't leave him alone, and he couldn't go with with them. So, Harry had decided that  _really_ , he wasn't useless, and could take care of himself, and  _fuck_  the Dursleys, and Dumbledore too, and those spineless bastards who listened to him and didn't write him when he was at his lowest –  _seeing Cedric die, in his dreams, every night_ -

Harry was  _very_  angry at the world, and at his friends, right now. Sure, he felt a bit guilty, now and then, for leaving without saying anything. For putting himself in danger, knowing they would worry. But he didn't regret his decision. Dumbledore was under the impression that Harry was in Spain with the Dursleys, and the Dursleys under the impression he was with 'his lot' wherever they were.

And so, for perhaps the first time in his life, Harry was  _free_. Really, truly free, of doing whatever he wanted.

Nothing would keep him caged now, he'd thought.

So he had taken a bag with a change of clothes, and money – muggle, of course – and had gone to the nearest supermarket, determined on hiding himself. He had bought the first hair-dye he found that would actually stick on black hair. Turned out it was purple. Harry had then dyed his hair, and put on some make-up all over his face to cover his scar. He had actually only wanted to hide his scar, but the make-up was too pale and made it obvious he was trying to hide something. So he had to make it look like his  _whole face_  was as white as a dead man's to cover up his mistake.

Once he'd finished dying his hair and putting on the make-up, he'd gone to the optician, and asked for new lenses. His glasses suited him fine, but they were too recognizable, and unpractical. Or so he had thought, at least, until he'd gone to the optician. It turned out his glasses didn't have the right prescription  _at all._

The optician, for a sum of money that thankfully Harry  _did have_ , gave him new glasses that looked identical to the last. It was life-changing, to see his surroundings so clearly. He had added a box of transparent contact lenses, and, at his demand, a box of  _purple_  contact lenses.

For  _who_  would search for Harry Potter in the face of an emo kid with purple hair and eyes ? No one, that's who.

Blending in was good and well, but sticking out when you were wanted was so stupid no one would  _actually_  think about it. So stupid it was almost smart.

The next step in his 'freedom plan' was to find a place to stay. Diagon Alley wasn't even an option. Harry had made that mistake the last time, and had ended up monitored by not only Dumbledore and every adult in the vicinity, but the Minister for Magic himself. This time, there was  _no chance_  he would risk getting caught.

He wanted freedom. He wanted to be left alone. Far from the fickle public that changed their opinions on him every Tuesday. Far from the backward society that didn't want  _Harry_  but  _Harry Potter The Boy Who Lived_.

Harry had had enough of that, of being Harry Potter. He wanted to be just Harry, or even just someone else. Someone normal. Like he'd always wanted to be.

So he had planned to get a cheap room somewhere, and possibly a job. Which, with the help of a newly acquired pair of large-soled boots, was easier than he'd thought, since he could pass for someone older than he really was. Yay for make-up and emo looks.

Though, admittedly, it was largely luck that contributed to finding a job.

He had stumbled, almost literally, over a panicked circus member. Once they had both apologized to each other, Harry had caught the distressed look on the man's face. Before he could think about it, he had asked if he could help.

"I don't think so," the man had said, looking over him oddly, in very accented English, "Can you drive a bike ?"

"A bike-" Harry trailed off, suddenly seeing a large poster of a motorbike stuntman, flying through a wall of fire. His breath caught, and he pointed at the poster, "Like that ?"

"Yes, exactly," the man said, nodding urgently.

Harry wasn't sure what possessed him, but he simply nodded, in awe of the poster. The man, too relieved to actually doubt him, immediately dragged him to the circus. He'd then presented him to a few people, who looked immediately relieved, if doubtful when they saw him. Harry hadn't understood everything, since they had talked in what  _sounded_  like Romanian, but he'd guess that they had some kind of problem with the guy that was supposed to do the bike stunts and needed a replacement  _urgently_.

"Show us," one woman – Daniela, Harry would later learn – all but commanded, as if he was one of her tigers.

"Um, I need a-" Harry gestured to himself, quite sure he shouldn't try driving a bike without protective clothing. (He ignored the little voice that told him, a bit hysterically, that he shouldn't try driving a bike at all.) "Biking clothes."

"You don't have any ?" the man that had brought him asked, looking panicked again.

"I left it at home," Harry lied, mentally slapping himself for lying to them – he should tell them the truth before he irrevocably made a fool of himself and ended up at the hospital. Stunt biking ? What was he  _thinking ?_

"And where is  _home_  ?" Daniela had asked, sharply.

"Far," Harry had said, some of his anger at his relatives bleeding through. It wasn't a lie – he  _had_  taken the first train towards wherever, after all, intent on escaping, and wasn't anywhere near Surrey now. Not that he had ever really seen Privet Drive as a home.

"Ah," one woman, older than the others, simply said, showing understanding somehow, "Well, come."

The woman, named Old Miha – though her full name was Mihaela – led him to a caravan, not far from there. She had a kind face, wrinkled and weathered, and wispy white hair. On the way, she explained in her best English that the previous stuntman, Vasile, had hurt himself during training, and that he had to be shipped to the hospital. He would remain there for a few months, and the circus couldn't afford that – the bike stunts were something they were  _known_  for.

"If you can drive," she'd said to Harry, as she rummaged through Vasile's wardrobe, "You can stay in Vasile's caravan for the time he's away. You need place to stay, yes ?"

"I- yes," Harry admitted, under the knowing eyes of the woman.

"Yes, many who join circus run away from family or streets," she agreed, not asking him what had made  _him_  flee his home. "We don't care. We're free."

At that, she had handed him a tight-looking black biking suit, and a helmet – from Vasile's younger years, apparently. It didn't suit Harry perfectly, but for the moment it would make do. So he had put it on, and gone back to where the group was waiting – larger than before. People had gathered to see him drive. He had gulped, unseen, under the helmet, and then climbed on the bike.

A minute later, he was putting the contact on, and the roar of the bike seemed to resonate through him. He found the sound oddly comforting, familiar, an old lullaby from those dreams of flying motorcycles he used to have. The engine, almost alive between his legs, reminded him a little of Buckbeak, of the first time he'd been on the formidable creature's back.

 _That's right_ , he'd thought,  _It's nothing new._

After all, he had been flying on a broom, a fragile piece of wood, with murderous balls trying to knock him off the air, since he was eleven. He had flown on a hypogriff's back. He had outflown a  _dragon_. What was driving a motorbike next to that ?

_Deadly stunts ? He did that on a regular basis already._

All fear bled away, as he let the wheel start turning, making dust rise behind him. And, with a grin that no one could see, he had sped away towards the jumping ramp.

The second he had left the ground, Harry had known that  _this_ , this would be his freedom, this would be  _everything_.

Like an eleven years old Harry Potter had once let his instincts drive his broom to catch a glass ball, a fourteen years old Harry Potter let his instincts take over to guide the bike through the air, whooping in elation. The same way McGonagall had immediately enrolled him in her house team, Old Miha immediately enrolled him in the circus.

Well. As soon as he'd stopped landing and speeding once more towards the ramp to try an even more daring stunt. He couldn't help it. Feeling the air around him, knowing  _instinctively_  how to move his body, trying to defy every law of physics and then some... It was amazing.

When he'd landed one last time and took off the helmet, Old Miha had laughed at his elated, if slightly sheepish grin, and his flushed face. Then, turning to the rest of the circus members, she'd asked if they had an objection – they had none, and were looking happy and relieved and, for some, reluctantly impressed with his performance.

"Well then, it seems we agree," she'd said, turning to Harry, who felt as though he was dreaming, "What's your name ?"

"I, Uh, I-" Harry had stammered, blanching a little. What if they recognized him. What if they didn't and someone else did ? He could put them all in danger and-

Old Miha, looking way too understanding clasped his shoulder and gave him a warm smile.

Harry wondered what she was thinking. He wasn't from the streets, and hadn't run from an abusive situation. It wasn't like the Dursleys  _beat_  him. They were a little mean, sure, and terrible people, but it could have been worse !

It was just that his name- well, Harry Potter had never  _quite_  felt like him. It had so many conotations, could bring so much trouble...

"Let's give him a new name," Old Miha said, facing the crowd of circus members.

"Purple !" Someone shouted, making the others laugh. "Name him Purple !"

"That's not original at all, you twat !" Someone else retorted.

"Yeah ? You have something better ?"

"He's pale as death," one man interrupted, "Name him Skull !"

There was a beat of silence, as everyone turned to inspect Harry's very pale face, due to his little make-up mishap. There were a few thoughtful nods. Eventually, someone cried that it was a good idea. They all agreed and cheered, and Harry couldn't help his own smile at their enthusiasm. Old Miha turned to him.

"Now, you're the amazing Skull," she said, "Until Vasile comes back."

"Sure," he'd said, grinning a bit wider. Well, he was already rocking the emo look. The emo name would go well with it. "Skull it is."

After that, he'd gone to be fitted for a biking suit and helmet that fit him. Money wasn't exactly a problem, what with the circus paying him and his left-overs from what he had taken along for his trip. Since he was already going for something a bit over the top, he got a suit that fit him like a second skin with purple hues, and a helmet that was purple and white.

Harry didn't actually like purple  _that_  much, but if he was going to play the part of the purple-loving emo-kid, then he was going to do it to the fullest.

In the meantime, he started training seriously, watching recordings of Vasile's stunts and trying to reproduce them. He might be a natural at flying and driving, but he wasn't a natural at jumping through hoops of fire, with trucks flying over his own head, all the while doing flips through the air.

Obviously, the first times he tried doing something more complex than making a pose mid-air, he crashed.

Again.

And again.

Harry crashed many times, during that training but somehow he never got really hurt. He would fall, thinking that it was it, it was how he'd die. Defeated by his own idiocy and arrogance, where Voldemort himself had failed. With each crash, he thought this would be the last. And damn it, it  _hurt_  like it would be the last.

But then he would get up again, as though nothing had happened. Oh, sure, he felt like a giant bruise, like Dudley had just caught up with him and practiced his kicking for hours. Getting up made him wince and groan, and he was always stupidly glad for the full-body suit and the helmet that probably helped, because he couldn't imagine how bad he would feel without. He felt like he'd just had a boxing match with the Whomping Willow, while getting plummeted by Dobby's rogue Bludger.

And yet, he got up, each time. With each step he took, he'd feel better, until he would simply take the bike and go at it again. And again. He didn't care for the bruises – he had always healed fast.

If he got hurt, he would get up. If the bike was damaged, he would repair it. If he failed a stunt, he would do it again until he made it. No matter the number of times he crashed.

The others said that he was a natural at it. Apparently, even with how much he crashed, his survival and his successes – which were more than the failures, surprisingly enough – were incredible, and he was getting better  _way too fast_.

It took him a little over a week to finally be ready for the arena. A week full of non-stop training, painful crashes, curses, and reviewing many recordings of stunts done by others... But a week. It was, according to Old Miha, incredible.

Harry didn't know about that, but he knew that  _he_  hadn't felt ready for the arena.

Harry had thought he would hate it. Hate the attention, the audience, the  _fame_ , like he did usually. He thought it would bring back memories of tournaments and deadly tasks, of grabbing the cup  _and then the graveyard with Cedric-_

He didn't. The moment he was in the air, he forgot about it. He forgot that he was Harry Potter, and let  _Skull_  exist.

He would hear the audience gasp with each daring stunt, hear them scream and cheer for him, living his stunts with him, and he'd suddenly felt that like  _this_ , as Skull and not Harry, he could get used to it. He was liked for something he actually did, and worked for, he was cheered on by people who genuinely liked his show. They didn't really care for his name, or his appearance.

They wanted a show, they wanted him to fly, to defy death with a laugh – and  _that_  he would do, gladly.

Harry never felt as free as he did when he was Skull.

He didn't care that he had other duties. That he was lying to people that cared about him, about where he was and what he was doing. He didn't care that by putting himself in danger, he was probably putting  _everything_  in danger. That if his friends saw him, they'd have heart attacks. That if Dumbledore saw him he'd probably get that infuriating twinkle in his eyes and that disappointed expression, like  _he had expected better._

Harry would have cared, maybe, a little, if he wasn't so fed up with everything. With being Harry.

So he  _wasn't_  Harry.

He was Skull, he was free, and if he wanted to fly and defy gravity and death again, he would do it, and they could go suck a lemon elsewhere.

Besides, he thought bitterly, it wasn't like it would last.

He was learning Romanian at a quick pace. It wasn't really a choice when everyone around him spoke only the minimum of English needed to make the circus work. He was also training on his flexibility and balance with the circus' acrobats and other performers. There wasn't just stunt-driving to the show. Slowly, he was making himself a place that felt like home.

But in the end, it wasn't like he would go back to Romania with them. Vasile would come back at the start of August, and he would go back to the Dursleys.

"Hey, Skull !" Someone shouted, dragging him out of his bitter thought. He turned to find Daniela grinning at him, a lion cub under her arm. She went on, in Romanian, " _They want to see you again. Move, you're flying twice tonight._ "

" _Sure thing,_ " He said, grinning back at her even though she couldn't see.

And as he went back to the arena, where the audience was waiting for him to come again and jump through flaming hoops with his bike, Harry couldn't help his smile.

It didn't matter that he would eventually go back to his busy, tense life. For the moment, he was Skull. He had no restraints, no obligations, except the ones he had put for himself.

He would enjoy that time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fair warning - this chapter, and this fic as a whole, are full of time skip. You must have noticed the last chapter took place during the summer between Harry's fourth and fifth year. This chapter takes place during fifth year, from christmas to summer.

Sirius trailed after his godson, tail waggling in curiosity as they moved through the crowds on the busy streets of a muggle city. He hadn't wanted to breach anyone's trust by agreeing to Harry's plan, but the fact was, the both of them felt stifled in that old rotting house full of dark magic.

So when the teenager, face drawn from seeing the Weasleys so tense – what with Arthur not completely recovered yet from the snake bite – had lightly suggested that they both go out a bit, Sirius had, despite his good sense, agreed.

The fact that Harry's hands had been trembling a little, while he watched the snow fall out of he dirty window, had helped, too. Sirius could remember years when he had been sitting there too, waiting for an excuse to get out of that cage, and be free. It had been James who had eventually given him an out, the Potters who had offered him a home. Now it was his turn to give Harry a way out.

He might not have been the best godfather ever, had done a lot of stupid shit, and was probably the last person that should be left in care of a rebellious teen but... But he liked to think that he could help Harry, even just a little bit. That maybe, if he did that, James wouldn't be so mad at him when he saw him again, for fucking up that much.

When Sirius had smiled at him and nodded, Harry's answering beaming smile was more than worth the headache that the Order would cause him when they discovered they had skipped town.

The purple- well. It was worth it too, in a way that made Sirius ache for James, because he knew his old friend would have laughed a lot at the sight of the ridiculous – but effective – disguise.

"Why are you-  _purple_  ?" He'd asked his godson, when the teenager got out of the bathroom, pale as death, hair dyed, with purple contact lenses and an old black leathery jacket on his back.

"Because who's going to see me and think ' _Oh look, this is clearly Harry Potter_ '," Harry had replied with a wide grin. He spun a little on himself, arms open like a showman for his audience, "Don't I look perfectly emo-trash ?"

"That, you do," Sirius had snorted, then with mirth, "You're just lacking the piercings and purple make up, to go with the death-white face."

From Harry's expression, Sirius could tell his godson was  _actually_  considering the idea. Huh. James was probably falling over himself laughing, with Lily shaking her head in despair and amusement, wherever they were. Sirius was certainly two seconds away from falling to the floor, howling with laughter. It was hysterical.

Certainly, the disguise worked incredibly well, Sirius found as they walked. No one wanted to approach the punk kid, all purple and leather jacket and boots, and his large shabby black dog. Sirius barked a dog laugh, as yet another couple of rough-looking teenagers avoided them a bit apprehensively. It helped, he supposed, that in this outfit his godson looked closer to a baby-faced eighteen years old than to a fifteen years old. It was probably all that black and leather, and the large-soled boots he was wearing. That, and the make-up.

Harry looked around, looking a bit curiously at some of the Christmas lights, and peering at some other things. Sirius could tell he was enjoying this time away from Headquarters. Despite the make-up, his cheeks were a bit flushed with cold, but he didn't look like he minded it. In fact, Sirius would bet that he was currently enjoying the simple fact that the air was devoid of dust and dark magic.

There was no musty smells, no shrieking banshees, no paranoid aurors keeping an eye on their every move through the walls. No despair hovering in the air – in fact, it was all the opposite, what with the Christmas cheer all around.

With how dreadful the old house was, Sirius had almost forgotten about Christmas, and he thought that Harry might have too.

Although Harry also might have less trouble than him with time. Merlin knew that since he had gotten out from Azkaban, Sirius lost track of many things, time being just one of them.

Not for the first time since they had gone out – and, gods, Sirius dearly hoped the Order wouldn't notice they were gone – the man-dog wondered where his godson was taking them. If he was taking them anywhere, and not just enjoying their walk of freedom.

Still, Harry seemed to know the streets well enough, and was even familiar with a few back-end alleys that looked like they had seen better days. Sirius thus thought that maybe he had a destination in mind. Or maybe he had just liked the city enough the last time he had been there – when was that, he wondered – and that was why they had taken the Knight Bus away from London.

It wasn't until they crossed path with a pair of foreigners, and that said foreigners did a double-take that Sirius started to think that maybe Harry had a few secrets of his own. Maybe he had been skipping town long before, in his purple disguise, without anyone the wiser – and oh, Albus would eat his hat, he thought gleefully.

" _Skull_  ?" One of the men asked, incredulously, before immediately beaming at Harry like he was the eighth wonder of the world, and starting to talk to him in fast-paced – was that  _Romanian_  ?

More shocking was the fact that Harry – had the man called him  _Skull_  ? Sirius would have to teach him a thing or two about putting too much into a punk disguise – answered immediately, looking a bit startled but happy. Still in Romanian.

Once again, Sirius wondered what the hell his godson did in his free time. When had he learned Romanian, of all things ? Maybe a couple of people from Drumstrang, now that he thought of it. Hadn't Harry written that he and Hermione were getting interested in languages, and the spells used to make it easier to learn them ? He had mentioned, last year, a friend from Beauxbâtons teaching him French already, too, hadn't he.

Or maybe, those two guys that were smiling at Harry like they had known him all their lives were the ones to teach him.

Sirius wasn't quite sure what to make of the fact that he clearly didn't know as much about his godson as he wanted. But in the end, it was his own fault for not being there, wasn't it. He had failed in his duties more than once. Had failed  _Harry_  more than once.

"Oh, this is Padfoot," Harry said suddenly, drawing Sirius' attention, as it was said in English. "He's very smart, but he doesn't understand Romanian." He turned to his godfather with a grin. "Padfoot, say hi !"

Sirius grinned a dog grin back and, standing on his hind-legs, waved a paw while giving a short bark. The men stared at him for a second, before laughing and petting his head. They congratulated Harry – in accented English – on having such a good and smart dog, before asking him if he wanted to come by the track. Sirius was a bit lost. The track ?

"Ah, I don't know," Harry said, shooting him a look, and grimacing a little at the two men, "I'm not sure how Padfoot would react, and I don't want to put him on a leash."

"Oh, come on, Skull," the man on the left – Andrei, Sirius thought his name was, "With the circus and Vasile away, there isn't much fun to be had around."

"You mean you loose all your bets," Harry said, deadpan, "You're lucky I never told Old Miha where we were going late at night." He turned to Padfoot, telling him, "Old Miha hates betting."

"Please, Skull, think of us, left all alone, everyone we like gone with the circus," the other man, Ian, whined dramatically. He added, in a clear guilt-tripping attempt, "Even  _you_  abandoned us, even when you said you weren't leaving with the circus."

"Yes, because somehow, I needed to go to school," Harry snorted. When the two men looked like they were about to whine again, Harry raised a gloved hand to interrupt, "Besides, I don't have a bike."

Ian and Andrei shared a look. Sirius was starting to be  _very_  confused.

"That can be helped," Andrei assured him. When Harry opened his mouth again to object, he hastened to add, "Same for the biking suit !"

Harry favoured him with a  _look_ , that Sirius immediately linked with Lily when they were caught pranking unsuspecting firsties. Andrei had the gal to smile at his godson sheepishly, while Ian made what was probably  _supposed_ to be puppy eyes. Harry looked distinctly unimpressed.

Finally, he turned to Sirius with a huff.

"Padfoot, if you don't want us to go to the track, say so," he said.

Sirius let out a questioning whine, tilting his head side-ways. He was starting to guess where this was heading. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the actual words Harry said.

"Ah, the track is a- not strictly  _legal_  stunt-biking ground," Harry said, grimacing slightly as his godafther's eyes widened. He shrugged, "I'm not too bad at it."

"Not too bad, he says," Ian muttered, shaking his head. Then, with a grin, "Crazy Skull, talking with a dog."

"A very smart dog," Harry said, before turning back to Sirius. "Left paw if we go, right paw if we don't."

Sirius considered for a second. Then, he raised his left paw because,  _who was he kidding_. This sounded like something he wouldn't miss for the world. As a Marauder, it was his duty to see that. Lily  _might_ murder him for going along with this, though.

Later on, he would think back on that decision, as he waited near Andrei and Ian, barking in fright while they cheered. Harry was doing stunts that should be left to brooms and cushioning charmed areas,  _not_ to flying metal deathtraps and illegal muddy biking tracks.

Forget  _might_. Lily  _was_  going to murder him the moment he joined her and James, and she was going to make it slow and painful and-

_Oh sweet Merlin's balls, why was Harry letting go of the wheel- Were those flamethrowers ?!_

...James  _might_  join his wife in murdering him for letting that happen.

Yet, when the whole crowd roared it's approval when he finally stopped defying every law of nature – including gravity – and came to a stop with a screech of tires, and  _Skull_ 's beaming smile was revealed as he bowed mockingly low, Sirius couldn't help it. He roared with them, because  _damn_.

He'd never seen Harry so happy.

* * *

It took Harry less than a day after coming back to the Dursleys to tell them that he would be leaving again.

They didn't complain. He didn't care.

So he took his biking stuff, and the old bike he'd gotten from Sirius as a secret present, after their escapade at Christmas, trying to ignore how his chest constricted at that thought. He grabbed everything he owned, and put it in a bottomless bag, that he threw over his shoulder. He avoided the sleeping Order guard – Mundungus, if the smell was any indication – and soon was speeding on the road.

He stopped at the first roadside station he found. There, he went in the bathroom after parking his bike and making sure there were no surveillance devices. One was never too careful, and Harry was starting to become pretty paranoid. Although – it's not paranoia if they are really out to get you, now, is it.

The bathroom was incredibly dirty, full of stains that were best left alone, and it smelled like something had died in there. Frankly, not his idea of sanitary or pleasant. It would have to do, however.

If it brought back memories of  _damp and dirty, snake skin and rat bones, a shade of the past and Ginny lying on the floor cold cold cold..._ Harry would simply ignore that.

Harry took out his stuff from his bag, taking care of not touching any suspicious stain. He dyed his hair, he put his coloured lenses, he changed his clothes. He put on the too-clear foundation on his face and neck. Finally, with a trembling hand, he added the purple make-up – eye shadow, some mascara even, and lipstick – that Sirius had gotten him as a joke.

Staring back at him in the mirror, his reflection looked like a stranger.

An emo-punk-trash stranger, with eyes devoid of anything. Except, perhaps, hurt. He felt raw, and empty of everything, like someone had scrubbed at his very core too hard with sandpaper and now he didn't have anything left that was of notice. It was all gone.

Gone.

Like Sirius.

Sirius who was gone, and it was his fault. His only family, the only person that had accepted him unconditionally for  _everything_  that he was – and that was Skull too –  _dead._ Tripping through a magical veil. Because Harry had been stupid enough to fall for an obvious trap.

Harry felt he should feel something. Anything. But in the end, he couldn't.

He had already raged, and cried. He'd hit a lot of things, broken some more, had shouted at people. He had cried while Ron hugged him tight, cried again alone in his bed. He had thrown the  _Learn European Languages Easily_  book that Hermione had gotten him for Christmas against the wall, had picked it up and cried again. He had written to Vi, and then torn the letter to shreds, and then wrote a letter to Sirius, sobbing, until he had burned it down to ashes in the fireplace. He had nightmares, woke up silently screaming, and felt like shit, and cried and shouted at nothing some more in the Room.

It was like Cedric all over again, but in a thousand times worse.

Cedric had been a friend, maybe even a crush, and a companion in the mess that was the Tournament.

Sirius, though. Sirius was -  _had been_  family. His godfather. The person, the only one, that knew about Skull, about what he did, about his grievances, about his fears. The person that, despite the lack of blood shared, had always trusted him, had faith in him.

They had made plans, Sirius and him, during the Christmas holiday, after their escapade at the biking track.

Harry had been so scared he would reject him, but Sirius had grinned at him, said that it was awesome, that he was a natural, and jokingly added that they should run away together to make a living of being stunt-bikers. Harry had been so relieved.

Then Sirius had added, more seriously but still smiling, that after everything was over and done, they could travel around together for real.

"We'll find your circus again," Sirius had promised. Then, with a barking laugh, "Or maybe, we'll find another one. Or make our own ! Travelling sounds good, yeah ?"

"Yeah," Harry had nodded, smiling too widely – he'd felt so happy.

So Sirius had gotten him a bike, and good biking equipment to add to what he already owned, and even a black leather jacket that proclaimed 'The Amazing Skull' on the back, with a purple skull under it. He'd gotten him the purple make up as a joke, too.

Harry had asked Hermione, at the beginning of the year, about learning languages more easily – magic was useful for that, right – because he was interested in perfecting his Romanian and French. But it fell right within their plans when she gifted him the book with hundreds of spells to accelerate his learning rate for languages.

They had made so many plans, Sirius and him. They would go to Romania, but also every other country in Europe, especially France or Italy, where Vi was, and then after Russia they would go to Asian countries.

Sirius had always wanted to go to Japan, apparently.

Then, maybe they could go to America, or Africa, or anywhere else. They had money enough, and Harry could earn more with his stunts. It would have been wonderful. An incredible dream.

Just a dream.

Harry gritted his teeth at the purple, pale stranger in the mirror, and with a pained howl that came from his aching heart, punched it. Hard. He felt his knuckles crack, saw blood seep through his gloves, where the mirror had shattered and shred the cloth to cut the skin too. Harry couldn't care less, though, the pain almost a distant feeling, as he stared at the mirror, and the many cracks in it.

And there, reflected in those cracks, were orange flames, with a purple hue.

 _The power he knows not_ , a voice whispered in his mind.

Harry stamped on that voice, not wanting to think about the prophecy – his fate, his death toll. He stared blankly at the flames around his knuckles, before taking off the gloves. There, in front of his eyes, the flames became a deeper purple, and were knitting flesh back together.

Harry frowned a little- he'd known, of course, with his childhood, that he healed fast. He'd known, with all the times he had crashed and just walked away without a thing to show for it. There  _had_  to be something healing him – he'd just thought it was his magic.

But that was a new thing. He never made fire before, certainly not bright orange shifting to purple.

Although, he'd heard Old Miha talk about it, one night when they all had been drunk beyond their minds after a successful night. About old tales of people with fire in their veins, and colourful flames on their skin. Flames of the sky, she'd said, with a sigh. But only a folk tale, she'd added with a wry grin. A tale her mama had passed down from her own mama, and so forth, until the origin of the tale was lost, and with it most of the story.

Harry now wondered if he could find more about it. He wondered if that fire was what had burned Quirell, once upon a time, what seemed like ages ago. Maybe this fire was what Dumbledore thought was  _love_. Maybe it was just his magic, making fire. It was probably that – accidental magic, taking the form of colourful flames. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen to him.

But then again, what did he care. He would just have to make sure not to burst into flames, and that if he did again no one was there to see it. He would just ignore the orange, or purple fire. It was probably for the best, for now.

He had enough trouble without adding mysterious fire to it.

* * *

It would take a full week, but eventually he reached the south of France. He spared a thought to Vi, whom he could have visited if they were around, but decided against it. Right now, anything magical reminded him too much of- of  _him_.

Harry finally found his circus again, after following the tracks left by posters and enthusiastic spectators.

He met Vasile again, more properly, and saw Daniela, and Ulrich, and everyone else. He was glad to see them, especially Old Miha, again.

Somehow, when the old lady saw him, she didn't even ask questions. She just accepted him back with open arms, with a warm and understanding smile.

" _Welcome back, Skull,_ " she told him, looking as though she could see right through, could see the hurt and the gaping hole that had been left in his soul.

It was with abandon that he threw Harry away, to take up the mantle of Skull again, with Vasile's blessing. The man was starting to find himself old and aching, and so was happy to do only one of two nights. That is, when they weren't  _both_  making stunts around each other, trying to outdo themselves, and laughing like madman as they did.

He started training until he ached. Started learning how to juggle, and do handstands, and how to climb to a slippery pole without help, and worked on his flexibility and balance, did stunts upon stunts, crashing sometimes still, until he couldn't think, until he could go through the motions and lose himself in it.

Skull was here for that. He was here to take his place, to be free when he couldn't, to breathe when he couldn't, to allow him to live when  _Harry_ couldn't.

Maybe it wasn't very healthy. Maybe he was just in denial.

He didn't care, though.

Anything to make him forget how hurt he felt inside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another time-skip. We are now during Harry's seventh year.
> 
> An important note: Harry is going to sleep with someone (anyone reading the tags knows who). It's not explicit, tho, I can't write smut to save my life. Let me preface this by saying that it won't end up as more than a one-night stand, a meaningless fling basically. NO, it's not the intended 'endgame'. There's no pairing intended to be endgame at all, but if there was, it wouldn't be this one.
> 
> Enjoy.

Renato wasn't supposed to be in Britain, and he wasn't happy about it.

He was supposed to be in China, finishing up that work that would end up in a deal with the Triads. One that would allow him to keep his friendly relationship with Fon while not being always bothered by the Triads trying to get one on him.

However something in his mission status had looked odd. So, suspicious, he'd followed a trail of barely there indications that he was being played.

Which was how he'd ended up in Britain, right in the middle of what seemed to be a terrorist wave. Hence the reason the hitman was so very annoyed. Terrorists were a pain in the ass, and more importantly, they were the government's job and heavily monitored. So he couldn't do anything about the nuisance, not without risking both his safety, his identity, and more importantly breaking Omerta.

Renato might be one of the best there was, it didn't mean he felt like defying the Vindice. He liked chaos, but he was neither crazy nor suicidal, thank you very much.

The hitman sighed, reviewing his file once more.

It turned out he had been right, although not the way he'd thought. While  _something_  was wrong, it seemed to be a genuine mistake, not a trap from the Triads. The paper trail had been erased, but still he'd found evidence. His target was  _more_  than just a misbehaving mafioso. He had also been old English nobility.

Had been, being the key words, Renato thought to himself as he stepped gingerly over the cooling corpse.

The man, Damian Greengrass, had a few more family members that would probably find his corpse over the next few days. Apparently, he was a bachelor, with very little traces of himself in the world. Really, if it weren't for a few details, Renato would have thought the man's whole life didn't exist on paper. How odd. But not the oddest he'd ever seen, he supposed. The mafia was always full of strange things, and people attempting to erase their identities was far from unusual.

Humming to himself, Renato got out of the house, and into the streets.

The city, a welsh one, was nice enough, if a bit empty. Apparently the terrorist threat wasn't taken lightly. Well, he amended as he spied a group of teens hurriedly making their way towards the end of the street, not  _too_  lightly. He wondered if they had escaped curfew to go to a bar or something –  _he_  certainly could use some good alcohol right now.

"-unwise," a female voice came from the group, as he followed them leisurely – probably belonging to the dark, bushy haired girl, he thought, "It's dangerous to be so out in the open ! Especially on our own !"

"I know, but strategically," a male voice – the red-head, Renato thought – said, "It's the best way." He smiled at the girl, a bit tensely. "Come on, 'mione, have a bit of faith."

"I can take care of myself," the third person, a teenage boy with dark messy hair, added with determination, "No one would be looking for me  _alone_. Especially not in a dirty old pub or something like that."

The girl made a noise of disagreement, but didn't argue further. Renato wondered absently about them. Rebellious teenagers, trying to escape the stifling care of their parents ? Or maybe trying to escape some annoyance or another – a bully, maybe. Ah well, he thought, none of his business.

He swerved to the right, taking another alley.

Thus he completely missed the way the three teenagers looked over their shoulders warily, fingering something in their pockets, looking like hunted prey. He missed the way they hugged, shortly, before splitting in two groups so that they would attract less unwanted attention, and promised to see each other the next day, at another location.

Eventually, Renato found his way to a bar, where he sighed in relief as he sunk into one of the chairs in a corner. He ordered whiskey, and relaxed a little in his seat as he looked around himself. He was clearly surrounded by civilians, none of them really noteworthy.

Perhaps, he mused as he eyed the way one woman in another corner was watching him, he could even indulge in a little fun. After all, he'd just finished a job, and would be leaving Britain the next day. What harm could it do ?

Just as he was taking the first sip of his drink, debating whether to approach the woman or to wait to see if someone else caught his attention, the bell jingled. He turned towards the entrance, and raised an eyebrow minutely when he recognized the teen with dark hairs from before.

Now that they were out of the dark streets, Renato could see him much better. He hummed appreciatively.

The young man looked to be maybe nineteen. A bit on the short side, but his features betrayed something older. Golden skin and messy black hair weren't his most defining features, as he had a nice jawline with a little stubble, and a straight nose. He seemed to have clear, almond shaped eyes hidden behind those glasses of his.

Renato leaned slightly in his seat, sparing a look for the woman from before. She too, was eyeing the teen with interest, seeing him as an easier prey perhaps.

Well. That just wouldn't do.

"Excuse me," Renato called lightly, his voice not too loud – just enough to draw the teen's attention, but not anyone else's. He smiled his best charming smile, as he gestured at the seats around the table he was at, "If you're searching for a place to sit, there are free chairs here."

The teen's eyes widened a little, his lips parting in surprise for a second, before they narrowed again. He gave Renato a once-over that made him arch an eyebrow with amusement. Then, finally, the young man seemed to reach a decision and shrugged. He came to Renato's table, and drew a chair, sitting in front of him.

"Thank you for the offer," he said simply, a bit warily. Renato found that he had a charming British accent, with a hint of- was that Scottish, perhaps.

"No trouble," Renato said, smiling charmingly at him, "It's not everyday you see such a lovely young man as you. I had to take the chance to take a closer look."

The teen's eyes, which were, now that he was closer, a gorgeous green, widened a little. A shame, Renato thought, that they were hidden behind those hideous glasses.

Then, after seemingly searching for the proof that it was a joke or a lie and finding none, the teen relaxed ever so slightly. Renato supposed that he wasn't used to men attempting to hit on him – he himself would admit that he usually preferred women, but this young man  _was_  easy on the eyes, and some change wouldn't hurt.

Said young man's cheeks darkened a little, as his lips twitched.

"Oh," he said, and this time the once-over he gave Renato was slower, and much more appreciative, "Well, your not bad yourself. Though I have to wonder who I'm talking to ?"

"I'm Renato,  _bello_ ," Renato said – the teen was a civilian, wouldn't recognize his name. He all but purred, "And who might  _you_  be ?"

Harry twitched slightly in his seat, a bit surprised.

 _This_  was certainly not what he had expected would happen, after he'd gone separately from Ron and Hermione. Still, he supposed it was better than a surprise Death Eater attack. Yes, he thought as he once again looked at the man in front of him,  _much_  better than an attack.

The man was clearly foreign – he had the tan, and of course the accent, of an Italian. The suit and fedora gave him a look of class, and slightly of danger, but Harry's instincts weren't shouting at him to run away so it should be good.

He had  _very_  good instincts, after all, honed by years of dangerous encounters, and the last year on the run, on the Horcrux hunt.

And those instincts were currently telling him that the Italian man,  _Renato_ , was absolutely honest in his venture – which was, apparently, trying to charm the pants off Harry. Which, Harry had to admit, didn't sound that bad. He certainly had nothing better to do, and nowhere to go, really, until the next day when he would meet up with his friends again.

Besides, it didn't hurt that the man was good looking. Forget the clothes, he had quite the fine features, dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, with messy dark hairs – almost as bad as his own, he thought with inward amusement – and curly sideburns, and certainly a good figure.

Harry wasn't ashamed to show his appreciation, since it was reciprocated. It wasn't as though it was his first flirt, not even with a man. He  _had_  had some interesting times, as Skull, just before he'd turned sixteen.

As Daniela had pointed out with a smirk, you'd be surprised at how much people liked a bad boy with a pretty face. Some people actually  _liked_  the emo-punk look, the make up and all the leather. Harry –  _Skull –_  had been a bit surprised, pleasantly so, before deciding that, what the hell, he was young, he could experiment a bit.

So, he was both interested and flattered, and the man wasn't a threat to him. That, and he was clearly a muggle, since he hadn't shown any recognition at his scar – in fact, Harry was quite sure he hadn't yet noticed it, which was always nice.

"I'm Harry," he told the man, smiling a little, knowing that his name wouldn't really matter to that man who didn't know him. If it ended in a one night stand, they wouldn't ever see each other again, anyway. He added, making small talk, "You are Italian ?"

"I am," the man said, with an almost purr in his voice – Harry repressed a shiver, wondering how the man did it, and if there was a way he could do it too, because  _shit_  that was hot, "I'm here on a business trip. You're from around here ?"

"Not really, I'm from Surrey," Harry told him, seeing no harm in that little truth. When the man nodded, but didn't reply just yet, he went on, "So, what sort of business are you here for ?"

"I was meeting a business associate, actually," Renato said, taking a sip of his drink. He eyed Harry, "You want something to drink ? My treat."

Harry shrugged, before waving the waitress. He ordered a pint of cider, before turning back to the man. Renato was watching him with slight amusement, and still that same look on his face that said that he  _certainly_  hoped to conclude business that evening. Just not the kind he was in Britain for.

They kept making small talk, never really saying anything interesting. Renato had sometimes an arrogant drawl to his words, that unpleasantly reminded Harry of some self-assured purebloods. However, with the clothes the man wore, he didn't doubt that his claims of being one of the best in his field were true. He decided to just ignore the few times the man was a bit too arrogant for his liking. After all, this would only be a one-night stand if anything, and he wasn't required to like the man's personality.

Making more small-talk Harry learned that Renato would leave the next morning, for China, and in return told him that he would also be leaving Wales the next morning, as he was headed to London with friends.

Harry asked lightly about Italy, since the man had to know about it. Renato was no story-teller, but he was surprisingly good at talking about his birth country. He clearly loved the place, and it showed. It made Harry think that perhaps, once everything had blown over, he would head to Italy. he wondered if all italians had such pride in their country, though.

Eventually, they both finished their drinks, and Renato asked Harry with another of those tone that made him shiver all over, if he wanted to accompany him to his hotel room. Harry, certainly not against sleeping in a real, warm bed, having access to a shower,  _and_  to a gorgeous looking man to boot, agreed easily.

It certainly promised to be an interesting night.

 

 

 

The next day, Harry slipped out of the hotel room after a warm shower. The night  _had_  been quite amazing. Renato certainly had experience enough to make it Harry's best night to date. It turned out his boasts over his skill in bed weren't without reason. Really, if the man could just turn the arrogance down a bit, he would be even more pleasant company, Harry would bet.

What had made it better, was that Renato hadn't reacted much to the few scars on Harry's skin – something that Harry appreciated, and in return he had ignored the ones on the man's own skin.

He wondered what sort of job, or childhood, perhaps, Renato had to gather some of those. Ah well, not his business.

He thought that perhaps Renato had been awake when he left, but had let him leave without saying anything. Harry appreciated that, too. He simply left a note, saying thank you for the night and that he hoped Renato's trip to China would go well. It was common courtesy, given that he was leaving without a word after what had been a  _really_  nice night.

When he finally found Ron and Hermione, he looked certainly more refreshed than them. So much that Ron actually remarked on it.

"Blimey, mate, where did you sleep ?" he asked. "You look well-rested !"

"Five stars hotel, actually," Harry grinned at him, feeling quite good about himself. "The bed was wonderful." Then, with a cheeky grin. "Though not as good as the company."

"Oh Merlin's-" Ron started, eyes widening in stunned understanding. He then hissed, half-gleeful half-reproachful, "You  _got laid_  !"

Harry's reply was a wide grin and a wink. Hermione shook her head in amusement, while Ron looked torn between pressing for details and reprimanding his friend for being careless.

Thankfully, neither commented on Ginny. After all, the two of them had broken up before the hunt, and even if they got together again after it all ended, for the moment they had no obligations. Still, Harry planned on having a long talk about everything with red-head, eventually, even if in the end they didn't renew their relationship.

 

 

 

Meanwhile, Renato smiled bemusedly at the simple note left by the young man, Harry.

While clearly not the most experienced lover, he hadn't been bad at all, very considerate, and letting Renato take the reins when it became clear that he knew what he was doing. They had gone slow, making sure to give each other as much pleasure as they received. It had been, all in all, one of the most pleasant nights Renato had in a while. Surprising, given that the last time he'd slept with a man, it hadn't been as pleasant. At all.

It had certainly helped that the young man hadn't said anything about his scars, like others had the habit to do. Of course, it probably had to do with the fact that Renato hadn't commented on Harry's own scars. It wasn't his business, even if he didn't like the signs that pointed towards probably an abusive childhood.

In his line of work, he had seen worse, and refraining from commenting was just polite.

At least, he thought as he took a shower, Harry hadn't expected anything more. He had actually thought, when he'd heard the scribbling, that he would find a phone number, or a last name, or something else- but no. Harry had simply thanked him, and wished him a good trip.

Such a sweet kid. With  _really_ gorgeous green eyes, too. Shame he had those glasses.

 

 

 

Neither of them noticed the slight twinge deep in their souls, in their flames, the only proof that for the first time in his life, Renato Sinclair had met a Sky worthy of him. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.

A few days later, Harry Potter walked to his death. Much later, he would notice that the odd fire he sometimes could invoke was purely purple now.

He would never know what caused it, and years later, when he learned what Sky flames were, he would wonder.

Was it the act of dying, that had shattered him so intimately it had broken him. Was it the war as a whole, killing people and more importantly losing them, losing important people that he had  _bonded_  with, maybe even harmonized with without realizing. Was it the loss of part of his soul – not really  _his_  but it had grown with him, had become part of him even if he didn't want it, and surely tearing it apart from his soul had done damage. Was it the loss of Voldemort, who had arguably been his soulmate, and more importantly had been a Sky as well – one with whom he shared a bond that might not be Harmony, but had been just as deep, and had dictated both of their lives.

Or maybe it was a mix of all of this.

But he wouldn't wonder for years still, and at this moment, right after the battle, Harry had other things to do. More important things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the war, they all need to talk, to take their time, to pick up the pieces.

After the battle, it seemed as though the world didn't know how to keep moving by itself.

They buried the dead, they cried, they mourned, they got their affairs in order. And then, came the question,  _now what_.

Harry was lost. He hadn't really thought, after hearing the prophecy, that he would survive this. Walking to his death had cemented that thought – he would die, and life would go on without him.

Except that he was still alive. He was still alive, he had buried his dead, and now he had no idea what to do.

His friends were in the same state, somehow not yet comprehending that it was over. They all felt a bit dead inside, as if  _something_  had broken the day of the battle, and now they didn't know how to fix it. Didn't know if it  _could_  be fixed.

Harry quickly discovered that he couldn't sleep alone any more. After  _months_  of having people near, sleeping in the same bed or at least the same room as him, sleeping alone wasn't possible. He wouldn't be able to fall asleep, or if he did, he would wake up in a panic, with the dead haunting his mind, and then he would seek reassurance in the people next to him-  _except they weren't there, where were they, had the Snatchers captured them, were they alive, ohgodsplease-_

Fortunately (thought they didn't feel very fortunate), his friends felt the same way. Hermione and Ron ended up bunking in the same room as him most nights, and they would wake each other up from nightmares, soothe each other's panic, give mindless reassurances.

They were still here, they weren't hurt, they were alive. It would be alright.

George did the same, and while Harry had never been the cuddly sort he didn't mind that sometimes the red-head clutched him in his sleep, seeking the warmth of a brother that he didn't have any more. The loss of Fred had hit them all hard, but his twin was the most affected, and everyone understood his need to  _not be alone_.

Leaving him alone, when he had  _never_  been alone in his life, would be like asking for a break down.

Still, there was only so much that company and understanding could bring. Only so much that hugs and the grounding physical comfort could do. It didn't make the nightmares go away, didn't make everything suddenly better. It didn't make sleeping easier.

One night, a few weeks after the battle, found Harry silently creeping downstairs. He avoided the creaky step carefully. The last thing he needed was to wake up everyone when they so clearly needed the sleep. Even Teddy, who was staying at the Burrow with Andy so that Harry could be there, wasn't sleeping too well, affected by all the changes around him.

So, for once, Harry would like his godson and the rest of his family to have a full night of sleep.

The young man wasn't sure what he had expected to find downstairs. An empty kitchen and living room, mostly. As for what he had aimed to do… Maybe to make himself some tea, while Crookshank purred nearby. Maybe just to step outside, get some fresh air, see if he could spot some constellations in the sky.

He hadn't expected to find Ginny already in the kitchen, staring blankly at a steaming pot of tea.

For a second, he just stared at her. At the bruises under her eyes from the lack of sleep, and the pale shade of her skin. It made her freckles and her hair stand out even more, and in the kitchen light she made an eerie portrait, almost an apparition.

Harry felt that the slightest sound would make her disappear, or maybe crumble into dust.

However standing there, staring at the odd painting Ginny made in the kitchen, wouldn't help any. His tongue felt dry, his mouth parched, as if he had just tried to swallow a mouthful of ashes. He cleared his throat.

Ginny jumped, wand in hand, curses half-way on her lips, before she registered who she was attacking. Harry had reacted as well, doing the motions for a shield charm on instinct with his own wand, but stopped when she did.

For a long moment, they stared at each other, frozen, eyes wild.

"Who gave Pig to Ron ?" Ginny asked sharply.

"Sirius," Harry answered. "What's the password ?"

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," Ginny replied.

It took a long beat for the both of them to realize the answers were correct, to realize that once more their reflexes, their paranoia had gotten the best of them. Slowly,  _very_  slowly, Ginny unwound and sighed. She put her wand back in her sleeve, and gave Harry a grimacing try at a smile. It wasn't very successful.

"Hey, Harry," she greeted him softly. "Sorry about that."

"My fault," Harry returned just as softly. "I shouldn't have startled you."

Ginny's smile was a poor thing, and brittle looking. Harry wanted to wipe it off her face. He couldn't, though, and settled for coming closer slowly. From the way Ginny was looking at him, he probably wasn't looking much better than her.

"Couldn't sleep ?" She asked, after a beat.

"Nightmares," he said, the only explanation needed.

"Yeah," she nodded, "Me too." She got her wand out again, and with a swish another cup came floating to the table. She looked at him. "Tea ?"

"Sure," he accepted.

It was easy to move the set on a platter, and to take it all outside. May wasn't the warmest month of the year, but it wasn't cold either. It was as though even the weather was trying to make up for that terrible winter, and the autumn before that, by giving them something softer.

Harry and Ginny settled down in the grass, not too far from the house. Cradling their cups in their hands, warmth seeping through their fingers, they rested on each other. Ginny had sat with her back against his torso, and for a moment he could only remember sixth year, in the Common Room. When she had sat in his lap, and had fit so well, and he had thought they were meant to be.

It felt like years ago.

Ginny still fit well in his lap, and it was still easy as breathing to hug her close. She was warm, and soft, her hair had the same smell and he could feel her pulse when he nuzzled her neck. It was maybe stupid, but it was what grounded him. What reminded him that they were  _here_ , and  _now_ , and they weren't fine but they were alive.

"I guess," Ginny said, after a long while spent simply snuggling with each other, seeking warmth and comfort, "That we need to talk about us, huh ?"

Harry guessed he wasn't the only one remembering sixth year and the peaceful times spent together. The quiet talks near the fireplace. The snogging sessions in corners where no one would see. The holding hands to Hogsmeade. The memories of a time that seemed eons ago, when somehow things were better – although not perfect, far from it.

"I guess," Harry echoed.

They hadn't really talked about it earlier, about their relationship. What they had before it all, and what they had thought they would have after. Hadn't talked about an  _us_  that didn't define their faction in the war. Us, these days, had meant a trio in a tent, a group of children in a castle, a rebel group trying to overthrow the government.

Now, the war was done – even though it didn't feel like it – and  _us_  could have another meaning.

Us. What a thought.

Harry wasn't sure there could be an 'us' the way there had been. At least not now, when everything was still too fresh, when romance seemed something that belonged to a distant past. He buried his nose in Ginny's hair, and tightened his hold on her, as if she could disappear at any given moment. In a way, he was scared she would, with the next words he spoke.

"I- I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship, Gin."

Ginny drew in a sharp breath, but didn't reply. He waited, a bit tensely, for her answer. For a long while, they stayed that way, just waiting, her sipping on cooling tea, Harry's own cup still on the platter. Maybe the both of them had this irrational fear that the other would leave if they said the wrong thing, if they moved the wrong way.

"No," Ginny eventually said, her hand rubbing circles on his wrist. Harry relaxed a little, because she wasn't upset, she wasn't blaming him for that decision. She  _wasn't leaving_. "Me neither."

She put her cup down, and her still warm hand came to find the one that Harry had put around her waist.

"I- I keep waking up, from seeing you dead, in Hagrid's arms. I jump at every sound, and the first spells that come to mind are ones to kill and not-" She was shivering in his arms, and it wasn't from the cold. She went on. "I can't listen to the radio without hearing the list of names, the announcements from Potterwatch, and I keep thinking I'll hear your name, or Ron's, or Dad's or-"

She cut off, breathing a bit shallow. Harry hugged her tight, breathing reassurances, knowing  _too well_  what she was feeling.

He too woke up thinking he was back in the tent, or in Hagrid's arms, or – and maybe it was the worst – in the white King Cross Station. He too would sometimes hear a sound, or smell a thing, and it would bring back a tidal wave of memories, and he would feel like he was crumbling under it.

He too, had reflexes to kill first, ask questions later, and it was terrifying because these days there was no enemy, and he was scared that one day he would attack a friend. He lived in fear that one day he wouldn't recognize Andy, that he would see Bellatrix instead, and that he would react without thinking. Or that he would one day wake up still living his nightmares and would attack George on autopilot.

It made falling asleep that much harder, to realize that he lacked control to the point that he might hurt what was  _his_  to protect.

Harry had been raised in what amounted to a prison, with a leash kept tightly on his behaviour. Until Hogwarts, he had  _always_  been in control – a forced control, but control all the same. He had always done things while keeping the  _rules_ of his existence in mind, had always strived to be the perfect example of normal that was tightly enforced in the Dursley household. It had made his accidental magic all the more frightening, at the time.

Then, he had discovered that he didn't have to always keep himself so tightly controlled. He could act brash, do first, think later. He didn't have to be such a neat-freak, didn't need to act like clockwork, didn't have to worry about odd happenings around him, about how much power he put behind a spell, or how shoddy his work was.

Now, though, he couldn't  _bear_  the thought of not keeping himself in control. He knew exactly, intimately, what sort of destruction, of  _hurt_  and  _death_  he could cause with just a word and a gesture. Sometimes, it took less than that, just a spike of irritation and his magic would react. Given the state he was in, it could get dangerous  _fast_.

He needed to get better, to get a hold on himself. For the safety of those he held dear, and for his own peace of mind. He needed to control himself. Think first, attack later.

Because if he didn't, he was sure he would live to regret the consequences.

It took a while for Ginny to calm down, her fingers digging in his skin painfully. Harry let her, aware that she was trying to anchor herself to reality again. The pain grounded him as well, distracting from the upsetting thoughts that were trying to invade his mind. After some time, her breathing had regulated, and she released her grasp a little.

She took a deep breath, and went on bravely.

"We lost so much, Harry." She said, voice choked. "And I can't just go back to- how it was before. I can't just pretend it'll be alright. If we get together again, I'm afraid we'll just stay that way, trying to make things seem  _okay_. Even when they're not."

And now, getting back together would be a lot like pretending nothing had happened. It would be unhealthy, and they would probably grow too dependent on each other.

Maybe in an ideal world they would heal oh so very quickly, and forget about those terrible times,  _years_  of tension. They would get married, have three kids, get normal jobs, live a normal life.

It wasn't an ideal world.

They were flawed people, sometimes selfish and still trying to find stable footing in a world that felt like it had crumbled under them.

Harry was already trying his best to try for  _normal_  with Teddy, at least, because he was now a single father of an orphaned baby, and he refused to fail him like Dumbledore had failed  _him_. He wasn't sure he could manage anything more than that. Even with Andy helping, and Molly giving tips, and everyone else trying their best. He just...

"I don't think I can commit to someone," Harry admitted, after a while. He hesitated, then added, "It's not just you. I just- It's comforting to have people, but right now I can't deal with expectations. You're my friend, and my family, and I  _love you_  Gin, but-"

"There is already too much to deal with," Ginny finished for him, understanding, her tone painfully so, "Without adding trying to build a stable relationship to the mix."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Ginny said, smiling that small brittle smile again. "I get it. I love you too, Harry, but I think I need some time before even thinking about it too."

Harry smiled back, although it felt a bit forced. They were all in the same boat, nowhere stable enough to even think about building anything worth it. Still scrambling to gather the pieces of themselves, and trying to get them back together – like puzzle pieces in holes that were the wrong shape, the wrong size.

Time, as Ginny said, would probably make things better. Hopefully. Other than that, though, Harry wasn't sure what they could do. What they were supposed to do.

There was no manual, no guide named  _Build Yourself Back Together as a Productive Member of Society After a War_.

"What are we going to do, now ?" Harry murmured.

"Hell if I know," Ginny replied, with a snort. She had taken her cup of tea back, having poured some more into it and warming it with a simple charm. She took a sip, before sighing. "I guess I'd need to finish my education, but-"

"Yeah," Harry said when she trailed off uncomfortably. "I don't think I could go back to Hogwarts so soon."

Ginny hummed. Neither of them mentioned the fact that it was almost expected of them, of  _him_ , to go back – if only to help the reconstruction.  _Where is Our Saviour ?_  The front page would ask to anyone that bothered to read the Prophet, talking about the lack of public appearances he had made, the lack of involvement in the reconstruction of the castle that had been a school.

They forgot that the castle had been a battlefield as well, it seemed.

He and countless others that had been there, had fought, had seen people die there, couldn't walk the destroyed halls without feeling faint. Hogwarts had once been his home, but it had never been completely safe. With the battle, Harry wasn't sure he would ever be able to return without the bad memories overwhelming him.

He couldn't go to the Great Hall without seeing the bodies on the floor.

He couldn't forget the curse stains on the walls, the scorch marks left on the stairs. The rubble in the hallways and the courtyard would only remind him of explosions and screams, of the scent of blood, smoke and fear.

Most of the people making demands hadn't been there for the battle. They hadn't been in the resistance, or with the Order. They had been hiding at home, like cowards, not even lifting a finger to help. Content with letting others get dragged and killed in the Ministry.

Harry had bled and suffered enough for them. He had given everything, even his life and  _soul_  for them, and now they wanted  _more_  ? When they had done  _nothing_  ? Fuck that.

They could build Hogwarts back with their own sweat and blood. He was done.

"I think I'll study on my own, and get my NEWTS at the Ministry," Harry eventually said. He added, "Hermione and Ron were thinking the same. We were talking about bringing it up with the DA, maybe ? Have study sessions together for those that want to get their OWLS or NEWTS without going back."

"That would be nice," Ginny admitted, and some tension bled out of her shoulders. "I'll tell some of the others, if you want. Seeing them all again might be good."

"Yeah, I guess so," Harry said. "Maybe not at the Burrow, though."

"Ah, no, that wouldn't-" Ginny started, only to huff, "We're already packed as it is. There might be safety in numbers but the house can only stand so many people. It's an old building. Bill might be working on making it safer with the goblins, but too much magic in one place would just bring it down."

"Well-" Harry started hesitantly, trying to think about an alternative.

Then he suddenly stopped, thinking on it. Goblins. Gringotts. Now that he thought about it, didn't he have some properties that he had inherited ? If he did, it could solve a few problems. He had been thinking of ways to help his family, and maybe this could help. He would need to check it with his account manager, or maybe in the appropriate Ministry Department.

The simple idea that he needed to go either in the Ministry or in Diagon Alley though… Harry didn't like to go out in public, since that was asking to get mobbed by people.

The first time it had happened, he had almost blasted curses left and right, too caught in memories of the war, of the battle. Only Hermione and Ron's grip on his arms, painful and just as livid, had anchored him enough that they had made it safely to Gringotts for their meetings to clarify things with the Goblins, without incidents.

Fortunately, said meeting had gone surprisingly well. The Goblins weren't  _nice_ , nor were they accommodating. But even though they didn't involve themselves in the affairs of the wizards, except their finances, they could understand acts of war. Voldemort  _had_  made their lives difficult as well, simply because they were  _creatures_  and not humans. Getting rid of him had earned Harry some goodwill.

His offer to pay for the damage caused had certainly earned him more, though.

In a turn of irony, he had simply had to relinquish the gold in Bellatrix' vault to the Goblins. Harry, as standing Lord Black until he either passed the mantel to Andy, or to Teddy when the boy was old enough, had a claim on all of Bellatrix's possessions.

That had been oddly satisfying, if very startling.

"Harry ?" Ginny's voice drew him out of his thoughts, worried. "Harry, do you hear me ?"

"I'm here, I'm fine," Harry immediately assured her, shaking himself out of it. Ginny had twisted herself in his lap, so that she could see his face, and he gave her a small smile. "I was just thinking. Nothing more."

 _No flashbacks of unpleasant times_  was the unspoken assurance.

Unfortunately, it was something that happened all too often to all of them, and by now they were used to people spacing out in the middle of a talk. They would then need to coax them out of it gently, grounding them, telling them truths –  _you are Harry Potter, you are with me, you are safe, you're in the Burrow, the war is over, you are fine, no one is attacking you-_

Ginny looked relieved. She leaned back into his chest, cradling her cup in her hands. Harry's own cup had grown cold, and he heated it back with a thoughtless gesture, then made it float to him and plucked it from the air.

Using magic in such small, enchanting ways was soothing.

"What were you thinking about ?" Ginny asked him.

"Some plans, maybe," Harry said. "I'm not sure yet. I need to think about it, and go either to Gringotts or to the Ministry." He grimaced and Ginny grimaced back, knowing all too well how their outings went these days. There was a reason they were all holed up in the Burrow, where Bill and the Goblins had put on wards that kept any unwanted mail or visits away. Harry sighed. "I might as well make it the Ministry. Kingsley has been asking to see me, and there are a few things that I need done there anyway."

"You'll take someone with you, at least, right ?" Ginny said. She looked worried. "I know you can take care of yourself but-"

But no one liked the thought of letting anyone go anywhere alone these days. There was still the occasional dark supporter that was caught, and tensions were still high enough that going out without an escort didn't feel safe to anyone that had fought. That was without mentioning the fickle sheep that could just turn on them one day and jump through hoops to please them the other. People always jumped on them, and none of them wanted to be charged with assault because, once again, they had just  _reacted_.

"I'll do that," Harry reassured her. "Kingsley wanted to see Neville as well, so I'll ask him. Hermione was thinking of going as well, to get an International Portkey to Australia, for her parents."

"Oh, so she decided to go, then ?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "She's not sure what she'll do once there, but she said she needs to at least see them, to be able to move on." Which they all understood. "She wants to go alone, though."

"Which is understandable," Ginny said slowly – but Harry could see that she too, felt reluctant to let Hermione go abroad on her own, so soon. However, they couldn't deny her this. It was her right, to demand some time alone, especially where her parents were concerned. Ginny huffed. "I'll speak to her, about it. If only to make sure she'll take an emergency portkey home with her."

"Thanks, that would be great," Harry said, a bit relieved.

Ginny smiled at him, and this time the small little thing looked a bit more genuine. She hummed, and leaned more comfortably against him. They both stayed that way for a long time, just sipping the tea and relaxing with each other.

Harry wondered when the last time he had felt so comfortable and safe was. He couldn't recall.

"Hey, Harry," Ginny asked softly, some time later, after they had finished the whole pot of tea and had laid down in the grass to stare at the sky. "Do you reckon we'll ever forget about it all ?"

For a long moment, Harry could only stay staring at the sky, at the stars – the same stars that he had seen, on the rare clear nights during the Horcrux hunt, from the edge of the tent. He wondered if he  _would_ ever forget it.

Would he ?

Would he forget the hunt, the feeling of being hunted, the fights, the fear ? The long nights in the tent, and the ones in the odd building, and the ones in cheap motel rooms. That one night where they had been paranoid enough to go separate ways, and he had yearned  _so much_  for a night of fun, of fake normalcy, to forget the war for just a few hours, that he hadn't even been cautious enough before sleeping with a stranger.

And then… There was Malfoy manor, the torture, the Snatchers, Bellatrix, Shell Cottage, Gringotts, Kreacher, every Horcrux, every step of the way, every doubt that had plagued him. The close calls, the ambushes, the times when Hermione, Ron and him had probably killed their opponents to get away, and they hadn't felt as much guilt as they probably should have – because it had been  _war_ , kill or be killed.

There was Voldemort's name, which even he couldn't say anymore without expecting a group of Snatchers to materialize out of thin air. He now understood why the older generation had never said his name. Now the man would always be called Riddle, or Snake-face, or Voldie, but the apprehension that had come with the Taboo wouldn't be forgotten easily.

Neither could the connection in his head, the bit of soul that had been torn apart from him. He wouldn't –  _couldn't_  forget about the walk to his death, and the battle before and after that. He couldn't forget the blinding white train station, and the feeling of something  _shattering_  inside of him.

Ginny, he suspected, wouldn't forget either.

Wouldn't forget the diary that had held her soul too, once upon a time, wouldn't forget the man that had marked them in a way that was too deep to remove every trace.

("Sometimes," she had murmured to him one night after the battle, when they had been too plagued by nightmares to sleep, once more, with a bitter twist of her lips, "I think I'm missing a piece of my soul. Does it make me a terrible person ?"

"Of course not," Harry had murmured right back. "Or I would be one too.")

Ginny wouldn't forget it. Nor would she forget the pain, the torture, the resistance in Hogwarts. The long nights waiting by the radio, like they had done in the tent, waiting for familiar names and being relieved when there were none.

She wouldn't forget of a Neville who had grown into his power and confidence, who had shone and healed as much as he could. Of nights and days,  _hours_  spent in the Room, all of them training like their lives depended on it – and they did. Of the web of information, Aberforth. Of training the children that Harry had started to teach, making them into soldiers, rebels,  _killers_. Survivors. Of a Luna calming people down with her own brand of crazy in a world that didn't make sense anymore. Of having grown used to having  _dozens_  of people bunking in the same place, of slipping into each other's beds during the night for comfort too.

This, and so much more, some things that couldn't be put into words… Those weren't things that could be forgotten. They all had scars, now, some visible and some not, and they would remember where each of them had come from.

"No," he eventually replied quietly, "I don't think we'll forget anything. But we will learn to live with it."

Ginny didn't reply, curling up tighter next to him, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Harry wondered if she had finally fallen asleep.

Closing his eyes, he decided it didn't matter. They were together, safe and alive.

For now, that was enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will mention a new character that was hinted at in previous chapters, right at the end. I'm curious about how many of you caught the hint!

Harry landed heavily in front of a large house, in the middle of a large property. Only the fact that he was holding Teddy kept him from crashing down, and he held himself upright by sheer force of will.

"You alright there, Harry ?" Andromeda asked with concern. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm-" Harry started, before amending his intended statement. Yeah, no he wasn't  _fine_. "On second thoughts, could you hold Teddy for a sec ?"

Andromeda immediately took her grandson from his arms. The second his godson was no longer in any danger from him, Harry took a brief look around – scanning the area for threats, sending a pulse of magic, and finding nothing of concern. Reassured that they were safe, he folded on himself, crouching down and taking a deep breath.

"Harry ?" Andromeda asked, worried.

Teddy made a cooing sound that mimicked the tone, and Harry found his lips stretching into a thin smile despite himself. Not that they could see it, with his head still ducked down, almost hidden between his knees. He took another deep, calming, steady breath, before waving a hand.

"I'm good, I just," he said, "I really don't like portkeys."

"Of course," Andromeda said, sounding understanding and soothing. Harry shot a look towards her, and found her gracefully sitting down in the grass, settling Teddy in her lap. "We'll wait until you feel better, then."

"Thank you," Harry said, breathlessly.

Portkey travel had always been an unpleasant experience for him. As almost any magical mean of travelling, sure, but portkeys brought back bad memories that the floo or side-along apparition didn't. Harry certainly liked apparating  _himself_  much better than any other mean of travel that wasn't flying. Flying was the best. He missed it. Maybe, once they had time, they could all have a match of Quidditch or something.

In any case, the next time they needed to go visit somewhere, they would go by broom, or thestral, or even flying motorcycle – no portkeys. Portkeys would be for emergencies, and that would be all.

His mind wandered for a second to Hermione, who had taken an International Portkey to Australia just a few days ago. At Ginny's, and most of the family's insistence, she had also taken an emergency portkey with her, one that would get her back to the Burrow in a snap. He hoped her travel had gone smoothly, and that she was having luck in her endeavour. Even if he didn't like that she had gone alone, something that grated against every single one of his instincts because - _what if there was something wrong, how could he protect her from this far away, all alone-_

Harry shook his head, ruefully. Hermione would be fine. She was fierce, and a great fighter, really smart to boot. She would be  _fine_. There would be no troubles finding her.  _He_  was the trouble magnet. Not her.

Yeah.

It still bothered him, to have one of his family so far from reach. But he supposed he would have to get used to it. And besides, they were here exactly for that purpose. To have a way to reach each other easily and safely.

"How is it looking ?" He asked Andromeda from between his knees, still taking in measured breaths to ground himself – he was almost  _there_ , just a little distraction and it would be just right.

"Frankly ?" The woman replied, thoughtfully. "Surprisingly good. The pictures didn't do it justice at all. The grounds seem nice as well, if a bit unkempt. Large enough. And, well, far from everything."

"Which was the point," Harry pointed out.

"I know," Andromeda said, "But I'm a city woman, Harry. It'll take time to adjust."

"Haven't you been adjusting to the Burrow ?" Harry asked, worriedly – she hadn't mentioned this at all, and he hadn't even thought about it ! How could he have been so negligent to miss that she wasn't doing-

"I don't know what you're thinking, but stop immediately," Andromeda said, wryly. "I'm doing  _good_ , Harry. Better than on my own in that old, empty house, at least." She added, before he could retort anything. "Stop worrying for me. I'm the eldest. I'm supposed to worry for  _you_ , not the opposite."

"Can't help it," Harry muttered.

Andromeda huffed a small laugh. Harry turned his head fully, to look at her. She was absently playing with a guzzling Teddy, her eyes on his hair – which had taken a curly quality the moment he had gone in her arms.

She certainly looked better now than she did in the days after the battle. Not that he could blame her, but when he had gone to find her and Teddy in her house, she had been so clearly lost, her eyes glazed over with memories all the time… He had claimed that it was for Teddy that he wanted both her and the boy to move into the Burrow with him, but in truth, it was for her as well.

It couldn't be healthy for her to stay in that old house, full of the echoes of her dead daughter and husband.

Harry was glad for his decision, now. She looked better, if only slightly so – but, like all of them, she couldn't be asked to recover in so little time.

Feeling better himself, Harry uncurled from his position, and peered around.

Andromeda was right. From here, at least, this house looked good.

It was a large building, two stories high, mostly stones and wood. It had a quiet charm, the way a country-farmhouse could have, except it looked more like a bungalow style house. Despite the chipped paint on the wood, and the bushes around having gone wild, it had that sort of warmth to it that Harry immediately liked.

Certainly a lot different from all those big mansions and manor houses, with balconies and pillars and more ornaments than he knew what to do with. Or from the few unoriginal colonial houses. Or even the 'plaster and bricks' houses. Harry had already seen more than enough of all of those. He certainly would be  _very_  happy to never set foot in a Victorian style house ever again.

Sure,  _those_  had had the floo already open, which had made visiting easier and the travel better for him, but that was the extent of it. He didn't want those grand,  _cold_  houses, no, thank you. Nor did he want anything generic and  _normal_ , which would probably have him breaking into spots. He had developed something of an allergy to all that.

"Okay," he said, slowly standing up. "Let's get inside."

"Ho ?" Andromeda said, handing him Teddy and graciously accepting his help getting up. She absently dusted her robes, looking at the house. "It fits your criteria, then ?"

"It looks warm," Harry said, shrugging slightly.

Andromeda nodded, apparently understanding what he meant.

In the last few days they had visited a few houses already, and although they were all very grand and beautiful, they lacked the sort of familial feeling that she knew Harry was seeking. The sort of thing that could be found in the Burrow, but not in high manors with marble floors.

Something  _homey_.

Harry noted absently what sort of plants were growing around. Some he could recognize, and would even know how to care for. Others, though, he didn't know. He would have to ask Neville for some help with the garden, probably. He wondered if Luna would like to find a spot for a bush of dirigible plums. They would need to inspect the grounds later. From the look of it, though, they wouldn't lack space. Maybe there would be enough there for more than a familial Quidditch Pitch ? Harry kind of wanted a spot for his motorcycle, and maybe even a ramp ? Yeah, he would have to discuss  _that_  with the others.

Later. Maybe. Harry didn't really know how he was going to broach the topic. He turned to Andromeda, but she was inspecting the grounds too, and not paying him much attention. He shoved any stray thoughts deep under, and turned back to the house. They were here for a reason, after all.

They both walked to the door, and opened it with just a little difficulty. There wasn't any nasty surprise, like that  _one_  manor house they had visited with the cursed doorknob that had tried to bite their fingers off. The hinges creaked and resisted, though. It would need greasing, as well as a paint job, and a change of locks. But then again, renovating a little wasn't a problem. It was even expected.

The inside, much larger than the outside let think, immediately showed that the house was magical. Although the wards had long since deteriorated into something less than adequate – another thing Harry would see fixed – the expansion charms had apparently remained.

Andromeda had explained to him, the first time they had visited a mansion that was bigger on the inside, that it actually rested on runework that was built into the walls themselves. Thus, unless they destroyed the walls, the charms should hold.

Harry would still have them checked, along with the wards, and maybe adjusted a little. One could never be too sure.

He  _did_  immediately check for any sort of malignant curse, or just surprising spells that could have lingered. With Teddy in his arms, he didn't want to take any chances. Magic could be unpredictable, especially when left to evolve on it's own for years. Fortunately, any spells he and Andy could think to cast returned negative. The hall, at least, was clear.

"Well," he said as he stepped inside, wrinkling his nose at the dust that had gathered, and the smell of caged air, "It'll need a good cleaning."

"That, it will," Andromeda agreed, looking at how her feet were leaving clear tracks in the dust.

She took her wand out, and immediately cast a few charms. After a beat, Harry imitated her – no point in waiting, it would be better to see the house somewhat clean rather than all dusty. Once the dust surrounding them had gathered into a large ball, Harry vanished it, and Andy looked around.

The hall wasn't the grand sort of thing found in manor houses, but it was still large and cleaned up nicely. There was a staircase in a corner, and two doors – one on the left, one on the right of the hall. The wooden panels on the far-back wall were in surprisingly good state, and there was a coat hanger in the shape of a plant fixed nearby, on the wall. It was a really nice piece, Harry found.

"Much better." Andromeda said, satisfied with their cleaning job and the result.

Teddy clapped his hands, giggling at the display, his hair going a wispy grey – much like the dust they had just cleared.

They moved from the entrance and to the next room, deciding to go with the door on the right. Andromeda made a face. The dust was back, with a vengeance. Teddy sneezed when the witch's cloak unwittingly lifted some dust from a corner. Harry immediately, carefully wiped his nose, then the two magicals started cleaning again. Of course, not until they had checked for spells or anything dangerous again. But once more, there wasn't anything.

Except for dust.

"It will still need a deep, muggle-style cleaning afterwards," Harry stated, once they had gotten rid of it once more.

"I suppose," Andromeda agreed, pursing her lips – cleaning charms could only do so much, it was true, and overpowering them would only damage the house. She looked around, shooting absent cleaning charms at the windows as well. "So ? What do you think ?"

"We haven't seen much yet," Harry pointed out. He adjusted his grip on his godson, smiling a small smile when he saw that the boy's hair had gone back to a darker colour. "But for now, I'll admit I like it."

Indeed, the living room was very spacious and cosy. The ceiling was high enough, and there were plenty of windows letting the light in. Anything done in wood had aged rather well, and the darker colours were a bit reddish – and thus warm. Some of the furniture would have to be replaced, and the wallpaper on the far wall would have to go entirely, but otherwise it was exactly what he had in mind when he had started looking at properties.

A big, nice, warm family home.

Somewhere where they could live together if they wanted, or just stay the night. Somewhere to go to feel safe, to be in good, trusted company. Somewhere  _new_ , devoid of all the memories and echoes of the dead that sometimes drowned them. A safe place, a clean slate, a real  _home_.

The Burrow was really nice, of course, and most of them all grouped there these days, but the Weasleys could only house so many, and do so much. Harry disliked depending on them like that – he knew they didn't really care, on the contrary, but he still wanted to repay their generosity. He wanted to provide for his family himself, instead of being the one provided with things.

In fact, Harry  _needed_  to provide a home for his family.

He wasn't really sure why it was grating him like that, but it was a really deep urge to protect and guard, to provide  _everything_ , from safety to comfort to his family, that made him seek this. In the end, Harry put it down to needing something stable and  _good_  after all the shit that they had gone through.

So there he was, visiting all the estates he had inherited from such and such, trying to find  _the_  place where he could establish a home.

They moved on, finding the kitchen next. A few checking and cleaning charms later, and Harry was humming appreciatively. Some appliances were  _way_  too ancient, but he liked the way it was arranged, and liked the colour of the cupboards. He could easily replace what he  _didn't_  like, and there was lots of room to add whatever he could need.

He took some steps left and right, to test it, and was satisfied with the manoeuvrability. There was even a space near one of the windows, to grow some herbs – like thyme, or mint. Speaking of the windows, there was plenty of light, which was really nice. A good change from most kitchens, that were somehow always cramped and dark.

"I  _really_  like it," he announced, smiling at a slightly bemused Andromeda.

"You have a thing for kitchens, don't you," she mused, remembering how he had frowned at some kitchens in other houses, and hadn't even wanted to see the rest of the building after that.

"I like to cook," Harry admitted. He shrugged slightly, careful with Teddy, a bit sheepish. "It might seem a bit odd, but it relaxes me. Same for cleaning and gardening, to tell the truth, but to a lesser extent." He smiled a bit more genuinely, bending carefully down, balancing Teddy on his hip, to inspect the cupboard under the sink. The plumbing seemed in good shape, all in all, but he would have it checked anyway. "Cooking, and baking. It's one of the only things, apart from flying and fighting, that I'm good at."

It could have seemed odd, given his upbringing, to know that he liked it. The truth was that Harry liked to be able to cook what he wanted, for those he wanted, when he wanted. It was a freedom he hadn't had, during childhood, and simply being able to feed not only himself, but also his family, and do it well…

It brought the same sort of satisfaction to him that the idea of providing home, shelter, protection to his family did. It was maybe a bit, well,  _primal_  as far as instincts went, but Harry didn't care. He wanted his family safe, comfortable and well-fed. Was that a crime ? No he thought not.

"Speaking of fighting," Andromeda started a bit hesitantly, as they made their way back to the entrance. They still needed to check all other ground-floor rooms, and then check the higher floors. "How's the Auror training going ?"

"Ah," Harry said, grimacing, "To be honest ? Not too well."

Kingsley had been the one to broach the topic, at the meeting with him and Neville, the day they and Hermione had gone to the Ministry. Ron had been there as well, but had ducked out of the meeting to accompany his girlfriend to the Department of International Magical Travel. Harry didn't begrudge him it at all. In hindsight, he would have liked to avoid all the other topics – ranging from public opinion, to maybe attending a ball, to future prospects, to trials, to officially standing in front of the ICW... Being the 'Saviour' was honestly too much work, and Harry didn't like it one bit. Still, most of it he  _needed_  to do. The Auror training bit had just been a suggestion, though.

Neville had flat out refused the idea. He wanted to work with plants, and maybe healing as a plan B. Being an Auror, though, had never been in his plans and ambitions, and he had made that clear. He had  _never_  liked to fight, and would certainly like to never have to do so again. Kinglsey hadn't pushed. The only reason he had even suggested it to Neville was because people had been talking about his performance during the battle, especially his role in slaying Nagini. Neville hadn't been impressed by that reasoning.

Harry, on the other hand, had been convinced to give it a try. It  _had_  been one of his professional career plans, after all. And fighting dark wizards, well… It was all he knew, wasn't it ? He was good at it. It seemed like a logical choice.

Besides, he'd thought that maybe the training would give him back some sort of control, some discipline that he sorely lacked these days. It would teach him some restraints, how to hold back.

In retrospective, it had been pretty stupid of him.

Harry absently let his gaze roam the room they were in now, a sort of large study crossing as library that was just as dusty as the rest of the house. He was barely registering most of it, mind whirling a bit. Trying to put words on what was the problem with the Auror training. It wasn't like there was just  _one_  of them, and it wasn't really clear cut.

"It's not really the job in itself that is the problem," he eventually told Andromeda, who was waiting for him to elaborate. "I'm actually good at it, and I think I might even grow to like it, given time, but..." He trailed off, shooting a few cleaning spells at the clearly pest infested shelves. Those hadn't aged too well, it seemed. "I'm not sure I'll have the patience to give it time."

"What do you mean ?" Andromeda asked, tone carefully neutral – Harry remembered with a start that Tonks, her  _daughter_  had been an Auror, and that the topic might just be upsetting to her. But since she was the one to start it, he wasn't going to stop unless she seemed upset.

"Well, you know how the Ministry is," he sighed. "Bending over backwards to try and please me, so that they can keep me at hand, right where they want me."

"Ah," Andy said, wry. "Let me guess. Half of the recruits try to get your autograph ?"

"There is that," Harry said, "Then there are the instructors who think I'm supposed to just  _know_  everything, as if I was the one supposed to do the teaching. Those who think I'm mocking them, as well, when I'm just-"

He cut himself off, frustrated just thinking about it.

It was just so damn annoying. He kept going into teaching mode, or battle mode, or worse,  _survival_  mode. He forgot that there was no war anymore, sometimes. Other times, he simply  _knew_  that doing some strategy against a group of dark wizards would work – but only in  _theory_ , not in reality. Some of the recruits, and even the instructors just made mistakes that Harry knew would get them killed during battle, and it made him just- so  _angry_  and  _frustrated_.

And then- then, there were the people who thought he was some sort of superhuman being, too powerful. Others were afraid of him. Others almost worshiped him. There was barely one person in the Department that treated him like a  _normal recruit_.

"Then," he went on after a while, Andy watching him seethe from the corner of her eye, "There are those  _bastards_  who think they know  _better_  when they were safely at home while we were  _fighting_  for our lives, and it's-" he forced himself to take a deep breath, seeing Teddy's hair shift to dust-grey again with a slightly upset expression on his face. He managed a small smile for his godson, and an even voice. "I just want to punch them in the face. Or at least hex them. But I can't, and none of them  _get it_."

Every flash of light, every explosion, made his blood boil and his mind gear into battle-mode – kill or be killed. They didn't  _get_  what it was like, to really fight for your life, to know a single mistake would kill you. They didn't get that when Harry got too rough, it wasn't really on purpose, and when he barked orders it wasn't because he thought himself better than them.

It was just that he forgot, for a while, where he was, when he was.

"I think," he said, "That I'm going to drop out of the program at the end of the week. Kingsley will understand."

Maybe, if not for the company, he would actually like it better. The theory was interesting, some things were actually dead useful. He had already  _devoured_  most of his manuals because there were things in them that he had never known and that he kind of wished he had known earlier. The practical aspect of things would be nice too, from going undercover to making raids. He even actually  _liked_  fighting, the adrenaline, the challenge. It made him feel alive, in a similar way to flying, or doing stunts.

And, well, it  _did_  teach him some much needed discipline and control over both his magic and temper, to have to deal with all the morons. Not the way he had expected, but well. When life gave you lemons…

Still, even without all the unpleasant people, and the expectations they had for the 'Saviour', for their Golden Boy, there was another reason for him to drop out. One that was more important.

It wasn't safe, neither for him or for the other recruits, to keep going.

Fighting made him loose control,  _again_ , and with his temper simmering at the surface with how frustrated he was, it was a recipe for disaster. Sure, he liked the thrill and all that. But unless it was in a controlled setting, he  _wouldn't_  do it again. He wasn't sure he would regret actually hurting one of the morons that angered him. But he would regret damaging the ministry, and hurting possible bystanders, and maybe  _killing_  some people.

Especially if he didn't do it on purpose.

Nightmares, panic attacks and flashbacks were only the tip of the iceberg. He had almost killed the instructor during one mock-fight, firing an overpowered cutting curse at him before he could register that  _there were no dark robes, no masks, no pain in his forehead-_

As stated before, he forgot where and when he was. And while the training forced him to get a grip, to control himself more forcefully, it wasn't a  _good_  way of doing things, and it would only end badly. For him, and for the others.

Harry didn't want that. He didn't want to have more fuel for nightmares, didn't want that  _fear_  of loosing control and hurting someone unwillingly becoming a reality.

The thrill might be just as addictive as when he did stunts, but the result was different. With his stunts, he was the only one risking to be hurt, and it was only a risk. Fighting ? It was  _made_  to hurt and destroy. Harry had seen enough of that, enough destruction for a life-time. He wanted something more peaceful. He could find his happiness without getting into fights.

The minister would be a bit disappointed, probably. But Kingsley would understand that he couldn't do this. Not so soon after the war.

"Do you think you'll eventually go back, once things-" Andromeda trailed off, searching for the right word, "Settle down a little ?"

"Truthfully ?" Harry said.

He grabbed the railing to go upstairs, and frowned at how fragile it felt. It would need repairing. The whole stairs, and the foundation of the house would need to be checked, as well. The ramp was a beautiful piece, a bit like that coat-hanger from before. It was metal, a bit rusty but still looking nice, forged to look like a curling vine. Harry wondered if the small metal buds he could make out would blossom during spring. That would be a nice charm to add, in any case.

"No." He said, once he had made sure the stairs would hold under his weight and not send them all tumbling down. "Auror was something I wanted to do when I was fifteen. I  _could_ like it. With some more training I could even stand all the rules and stuffy things that I would need to apply. But I don't see myself doing it. I've had enough of chasing dark wizards and the like for a while."

"Fair enough," Andy said. "So what are you planning to do ?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said. "For now, I think I'll focus on this little project, and once the house is ready, I'll focus on getting my NEWTS." He smiled down at Teddy, who was now enthusiastically babbling at some really odd lampshade in the upstairs corridor. He absently checked it for curses, and was happy to note there wasn't any. "And of course, taking care of Teddy."

"Of course," she echoed, smiling slightly.

Teddy, seeing that his godfather was smiling at him, shifted his hair to a mess of black, just like his, and Andromeda felt herself melt a little at the utterly besotted look on Harry's face. He really loved his godson like his own. He loved  _everyone_  in the large group he called family, as if they really were related.

Andromeda, who had grown up hearing that blood was everything, had never really managed to let go of that. She still was a Black at heart, somewhere deep within.

Harry, though, didn't care for blood at all. As he had said, once, to him what mattered were the bonds of the heart and the soul – though he had slightly grimaced at that, which was understandable given the whole Horcrux debacle. He cared for family of  _choice_. Not of blood.

In a way, after a war that had focused on the value of blood, it was very fitting.

She was glad that, after all that had happened, this boy still had a lot of heart to give. Maybe not to  _everyone_ , but still to a very large 'family'. Although she wasn't sure how she had ended up as a part of it, she was happy to be.

Now, hopefully, Harry would end up giving out  _too much_  for them. Sometimes, that boy seemed to care way too much for their well-being, and not at all for his own.

But then again, that was also why she and the others were there. Harry took care of them. It was only fair that they protected him in return.

Even if just from himself.

"Right," she said, turning to inspect one of the room. "Let's move on. We still have a lot of rooms to cover."

"Yes we do," Harry said, smiling. "It's a good thing. We have a large family, don't we ?"

Andromeda looked at him. He seemed happy. So she smiled back at him.

"Yes," she agreed. "We do."

 

 

A few weeks later, Harry sat down in the renovated study, staring uncertainly at a piece of parchment. He had been putting this off. He had been putting a  _lot_  of things off, to be honest. Which he would, eventually, have to address. For now, though, one thing at a time.

Decisively, he uncapped the fountain pen and started writing.

_Dear Vipère,_

_I'm finally taking the time to write, after all those months. I'm sorry for the delay, but..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Viper appears! The how and whys of their knowing Harry won't be explained in too much depth in this fic. Its implied though. Maybe one day, if I get the muse back for it, I'll write a small spin off about 'how I met your viper' or something.  
> Enjoy!

Viper took a long moment to consider their situation, and the actions they would take depending on that.

The last few years had been...  _Difficult_ , to say the least. Nothing unexpected, of course. They  _had_  planned for a lot of things, and this sort of life had been their wish. Certainly, venturing into the Underground and making a business there was both illegal and dangerous, but Viper had been prepared for it. Sure, in hindsight they had not prepared nearly enough, but the illusionist thought that they had managed rather well, given everything.

They had made a good number of enemies, and had upset a large number of sensibilities as well. Many times, they had probably bitten a bit more than they could chew. Still, Viper had always learned from their mistakes, and had always grown from them. Quickly. Adapting was something that they knew how to do, and do it well. Shedding skin to grow was only natural, for someone that had taken the name of a snake.

Similar to their namesake, Viper had also been merciless and quick in their retaliation. They never pretended to be nice, and given their choice of work it would be foolish to assume they were any less dangerous than others. Of course, Viper was also better than most at manipulating perceptions and getting their way in the end. Still. People should have known better than to cross them.

Well, hopefully, they had learned.

In the end, Viper was still there, and their reputation had grown a lot, while their enemies and  _their_  reputations were in shambles.

It had taken a lot of work, but it had been worth it. They had managed to gather a network a bit all over the place, kept a finger in as many pies as possible. Eventually, Viper had managed to get past that point where many newbies got stuck at. They had made a name for themselves, as a reliable - if expensive - information broker and illusionist. There was still the occasional foolish would-be backstabbing client, but Viper prided themselves in their mind-magics as well as their illusions. It was terribly easy now to ruin people without leaving a trace. Not that anyone knew they could do that.

They weren't sure people would be as willing to pay them, if they knew that with barely a second of eye-contact, Viper could not only read minds but implant all sorts of things. Like the suggestion that they were a bird, and  _oh wouldn't it be nice to go flying off a building._  Yes, people would probably panic a little if they knew.

But no one knew, and thus the point was moot. Viper had a stable reputation, a steady clientele, a good network, a lot of safety nets, and ever-growing riches. Just the way they liked it.

With everything stable, Viper supposed they  _could_  afford to take a small break.

Indigo eyes, hidden beneath a hood, turned back to the letter in their hands. A non-descriptive owl, with a notice-me-not charm on it, had delivered it that same morning. It was an invitation, from an old- an old  _friend,_  to visit.

_Dear Vipère,_

_I'm finally taking the time to write, after all those months. I'm sorry for the delay, but I'm sure you know all about what's happening currently._

_In case you didn't know, the war is over. Officially. You know, better than most, that it's not with Riddle dead that his ideals will stop. But it's a start._

_I've been trying to get my life back on track. Harder than it seems, when the whole nation seems to be unable to do anything without me. Not that I care about them, but they_ are _grating on my nerves. It's as if they can't understand that I just want to be left in peace with my family._

_I've finally finished the preparations, and I now have a home for myself and mine. Teddy, my godson, lives with me, along with Andromeda, his grandmother. Of course, it's rarely just us in the house. With a family as big as mine, it's a rare day when there isn't at least three more people. Thankfully, I planned for that, and the house has more than enough rooms._

_Which brings me to the reason I'm writing._

_In case you still doubt it,_ yes _, Vi, I consider you family. There is a room just for you, in that house. So please come around, sometime._

_I know you're probably still doing whatever shady thing you don't wan't to talk about, but I'd like to see you. It's been years, and I miss your shameless greedy ways. I'd like to introduce you to the others, too. Although, you probably know some of them – Fleur especially – already. You promised, remember ? So I'm waiting for you. Take your time, but try to come before next year._

_I put a portkey with the letter. It will take you to the house, which is named 'the Den'. The activation is '_ To the Den' _. Yes it's not very original. Sue me._

_Don't worry about the legality of it. Being Harry Potter, Destroyer of Dark Lords Extraordinaire does have its perks. I got a permit for international portkeys, apparition, flooing and any sort of travelling. Apparently, the ICW is trying to make me happy as much as the Ministry for Magic is. Or, more probably, they are trying to get me to visit their countries and promote international relations and tourism, or something. Not sure how to deal with it, but well. Free travel. Probably the only good thing to come out of that mess._

_Hoping that you're doing fine, and that you'll come by soon,_

_With lots of love,_

_Harry._

_PS: If you come, I'll bake your favourite strawberry shortcakes. You wouldn't want to miss it, would you ?_

Viper scowled a little at the letter, then at the portkey.

It was a small bookmark with a simple squiggle on it. It was probably supposed to be a doodle of a snake, but Harry had never had much talent in arts. His handwriting wasn't that much better in fact, although it had evolved from the chicken scratch to something a bit more legible through the years.

What to do now ?

Viper wasn't a social person. Even younger, when school had unfortunately been something they couldn't avoid, they had kept to themselves and the occasional study partner that would forever remain just the name put on group projects. They hadn't kept in touch with many people over the years, certainly not classmates. Now, they had contacts, clients, targets, and acquaintances. Some blood relations, mostly distant and none they wanted to know better, and the occasional regular business associate. It was the extent of their social circle, and they had always been happy with it.

Harry had, obviously, decided he wanted into that circle and carved himself a spot there. Viper wasn't even sure why, or how. They hadn't even intended to ever approach Harry Potter. The boy was a brand of trouble Viper certainly  _hadn't_  needed in their lives, thank you very much. It wasn't like it would be difficult either. Hogwarts was a very large place, and Harry had been a fourteen years old boy, and Viper a seventeen years old Beauxbâtons student. There was  _no reason_  for them to interact. Ever.

Then they had crossed path in a corridor, and the next thing Viper knew they had asked Harry if he knew where to get something to eat. Somehow, after that they just  _kept meeting_ , and it evolved from there. It didn't help that Harry, once he had managed to requisition a corner of the kitchen for his own use, baked  _really_  good treats and offered some to Viper. For free.

One day Viper had just opened their eyes to realize that they had gotten  _attached_. The worse part was, they were pretty sure Harry hadn't even done it one purpose. He was annoying like that.

Annoying or not, Harry was the closest thing Viper had to a friend. Or - since the infuriating boy was insistent on throwing the term around like candy - family. Of course they would deny it, and deny any sort of friendly relations with him if asked. That they had kept in touch, via the occasional letters, was beyond the point. Viper would certainly never admit that they had made plans to keep Harry in their life somehow.

Still.

Meeting Harry's family wasn't really something that had been in those hypothetical plans just yet.

Harry was one thing. Meeting  _everyone_  that he counted as friends and family ? That was  _way_  more people than what Viper was prepared to deal with.

But, Viper supposed, with the war having ended six months previous and Harry having won, maybe they could make an effort. They  _had_  planned to go check on him in person at some point. Merlin knew the boy got into too much trouble without meaning to, and going six months unchecked was tempting fate.

And that was without mentioning the war.

The last year and a half had been tense for Viper. Sure, their business with various criminal syndicates had been pretty good and stable by that point. But those criminal syndicates had only little relations with the magical society. Magical France, Viper's home country, had been more caught up in the UK's conflict than many other magical communities across the globe. Viper might have been out of France, but information still filtered to them.

The war breaking out in Great Britain hadn't been good news. It starting to spread to France had been just as bad. And then the rest of Europe had started getting affected, because blood purity was unfortunately not just Britain's problem and there were assholes everywhere. Fortunately only the UK's government had fallen, but still. Incidents, terrorist attacks, and mounting tensions had been everywhere. Having a Dark Lord did encourage people to take action, and a few coups had been attempted in other countries.

When there had been a few attacks in the muggle part of Italy, the mafia had been running around trying to find the culprit, and Viper had had to do some quick rumour work, along with the few magical criminals around. No one sane wanted the magical war to spill into the criminal community. What small information there was, floating around the underground, on magic, was already too much and gave them some occasional problems. And that was without adding some conflict into the mix. Viper's magical contacts had all shared that point of view - if Voldemort's actions somehow managed to breach the Statute of Secrecy, there was going to be  _so much trouble_.

All in all, the whole war had been one string of bad news following bad news, and Viper had hated it.

But Harry being declared Undesirable Number One ? That had taken the cake.

Viper had spent most of their time making  _sure_  none of this information ever made it to the underground. Protecting the magical community was important, in a general way, and Viper hadn't been the only one doing that, to protect themselves. But Harry ? Harry was personal. Harry was that annoying boy that made them strawberry tarts without asking for anything in return. Making sure no bounty hunter with connections would try gunning for him was the least Viper could do.

So.

Viper had already put some effort into insuring Harry's survival. Checking on him was just common sense. If it meant meeting his family as well... Viper would grudgingly suffer through it. After all, they were just making sure he wasn't wasting all that effort that had gone into keeping him healthy and whole.

Yes, the illusionist decided. Once they were done with the few matters that demanded their attention, and had concluded the last of their current business, they would go to see Harry.

Because at this point he was one of their investment. Also, he had asked nicely. And Viper was curious about this 'family' of his, if not keen on meeting them.

Those were all perfectly good reasons.

Yes.

Viper wasn't going because of that unsubtle attempt at bribery at the end of the letter. Not at all. The illusionist was stronger than that.

(Okay, so  _maybe_  they had missed Harry's baking. And  _maybe_  his strawberry-flavoured confections were the best they had ever tasted.

But it didn't mean  _anything_.

The were  _not_  weak for free food.)

(They  _would_  deny going because they missed Harry a little bit more than his cooking. It wasn't true. At all.

They had just… worried. A little.)

 

 

There were very few sounds in the living room of ' _The Den_ ', (as the family house had been dubbed – a wink to the Burrow, which none of them had missed and all had appreciated). Mostly, the rustling of paper, a few heavy sighs, the occasional mutter, and the clinking of tea cups on the small corner of the short table that wasn't invaded by books and notes.

Harry, not even looking up from the notebook he was balancing precariously between two heavy tomes and his knees, made a grab for the plate where he had set the newest batch of biscuits. He barely registered his magic acting on his behalf, simply glad for the snack that obediently came flying in his fingers.

Someone snorted, as he started nibbling absently on the biscuit, and he raised his eyes from his notes to find out whom and for what reason. Ron, the culprit, was watching him in barely concealed amusement.

"What ?" Harry asked, bemused.

"You don't even realize you're doing it, do you ?" Ron commented, the question sounding more rhetorical than anything.

"Of course he doesn't," Neville said, from behind a truly staggering pile of books. He went on, sagely. "It's  _Harry_."

"What ?" Harry repeated, starting to grow confused.

"They mean the casual wandless and wordless magic," Susan Bones informed him, smiling at him from where she had curled up next to Hannah Abott, in one of the large comfy leather armchairs. She had a very old looking book in her hands. "It's kind of impressive."

"You've been doing it a lot more, recently," Hermione said, adding her grain of salt to the conversation. She wasn't even looking at him, still focused on the large tome in her lap. "Haven't you noticed ?"

Harry paused, his mind whirling in confusion. He had been doing that ? Had he really ? Wasn't wandless magic supposed to be really difficult, though ?

He straightened out a bit, grimacing when he felt some bones and muscles shift in his stiff back. Careful not to send every book in his lap flying, he stretched out and arm, then another, making a sound of relief when  _something_  just popped back in place. All the while, thinking about it.

Truthfully he  _had_  noticed it. A bit. But he hadn't really paid it any mind. Not that suddenly being able to do wandless magic wasn't concerning or amazing, but he had been worrying about other things. Besides it had been gradual, not all that abrupt a change. And it wasn't like he was performing miracles without a wand. It was just small things that, in the end, helped make life just that much more bearable, with all the things he had to do.

Like  _accioing_  a biscuit without needing to move from his spot.

...He was growing lazy, wasn't he.

"I have noticed," he finally said aloud, a bit reluctantly. "Is it really that odd ?"

"Not that much," Neville answered, not sounding overly concerned about it. Harry could barely see his blond hairs behind the books piled in front of him. "Lots of people become able to do little things with wandless magic, once they reach adulthood and their magic finally stabilizes. Mostly tricks, like stirring your tea without touching your spoon, or getting something to float to the right place."

"Mum could make a small light on the tip of her fingers without a wand," was Luna's input.

"Our Uncle could close the curtains with just a twitch of his fingers," Padma added, nudging her twin, who nodded absently, still engrossed in her notes. "And he could also make the furniture move, like chairs."

There were a few sounds of contemplation, followed by more examples of casual use of wandless magic that they had witnessed at some point or another. Ron pointed out that Mrs Weasley would sometimes lit the fire under the pan without her wand.

"Harry does it way more often, though," Ginny, who had been lounging on the rug, surrounded by papers and books, half on top of Luna, pointed out. She looked only half-focused on the conversation. "And mostly without trying."

Harry felt himself stiffen a little, uneasy. Somehow, suddenly everyone in the room was staring at him. He was uncomfortably reminded of every time something unusual, even by magical standards, happened to him. How many times had he done something  _weird_  and been suddenly shunned by most of the population.

A part of himself, still there despite his best efforts, wondered, as it did every time something like this happened, if  _this time_  was the one they would decide that enough was enough and that they wanted out of his crazy life.

"Well," Ron eventually said with a shrug, echoing what Neville had said earlier, "It's  _Harry_."

The red-head turned towards where Neville was. There was the sound of shuffling papers, and suddenly Harry could make the blond out better from behind his books. Neville had a slightly wry expression as he looked at him.

"Of course, what you do is slightly more extensive but not unexpected. You've always been better at instinctual, practical magic, and you have a fair bit of power." Neville told him. "Really, it would have been more worrying if you  _didn't_  do that."

"Besides, it's useful," Ginny piped in. She grinned at him from her spot on the rug. "Speaking of, could you send one of those biscuits over there ? They're really good."

"True," Parvati said, still half-focused on her notes. "You bake really well, Harry. I'm jealous. Could you send a few over here as well ?"

Harry hid the relief and warmth he felt, at having such good friends that just… didn't care for his oddities, and loved him with them anyway. He was tempted to make a snarky comment on Parvati and Ginny's exploitation of his powers, but in the end simply floated a few biscuits over to them, Padma, and Luna, with a twitch of his fingers. After all, it wasn't as though they could reach the biscuits themselves, since the floor was just as covered in paper, parchment and books as the table was.

Speaking of books… He looked at the text that had been giving him trouble before the impromptu interruption of their study session.

"Can someone explain to me  _why_  adding fluxweed to Skele-gro made it less painful ?" He asked to the room at large, letting the previous topic drop. "It's not explained."

"I think I know that one," Neville said, humming thoughtfully. "Since fluxweed has healing properties, it's a given that it could be useful. More importantly, it's a plant that symbolizes change and metamorphosis, so it might help the body adapt to the growing bones ?"

"Would explain why it's used in Polyjuice," Padma commented. She huffed. "I can't believe we never learned such  _basic_  information. You'd think they would teach what ingredients do what, and why, before making us brew potions."

"That would imply having common sense," Ginny pointed out wryly, "Something most people in our society severely lack."

"Snape certainly wouldn't have done it," Hannah said, a bit mutinously, "It would have been  _helpful_  after all."

Ron wasn't the only one to snicker a little at that, even though they all hid it well. Even Hermione looked like she agreed. It wasn't really nice to speak ill of the dead, but truthfully Snape  _had_  been a horrendous teacher, and had made all of their lives unpleasant, even during the war. Double-agent or not, trusted by Dumbledore or not, memories or not, he had been a bitter man who was probably half the reason there was such a divide in Hogwarts.

Harry wasn't really sure what to think about the man, but he wasn't about to have warm and fuzzy feelings about Snape just because he had learned that the man had been in love with his mother and had thus had a little change of heart. The Potion Master had verbally abused him repeatedly and had aided discrimination, among a long list of other misgivings.

He could forgive – his friends apparently thought he was  _much_  too forgiving – but he wouldn't forget.

Besides, it was difficult to be happy with the late Potion Master when they now had to go back to the basics of potion making if they wanted to pass their NEWTS. It just gave them that much more work to do.

They all were about to go back to their intense revisions, when there was the sound of a knock at the door. They turned almost as one, fingers twitching for their wands in a repressed manner, towards the door. A beat later, Andy was opening it quietly, and smiling at them. She found Harry with her eyes.

"Hey Andy," he greeted her, "Is there something the matter ? Is Teddy okay ?"

"He's still napping," Andromeda said, with some fond amusement. "You have a guest, Harry."

She opened the door a bit more fully, and they all could see a cloaked figure standing there with the hood down. Indigo hair, indigo eyes, indigo triangular shapes on their cheeks, the stranger looked too androgynous to determine their gender. They looked quite uncomfortable to be at the center of the attention, and were clearly itching to put their hood up – but they didn't, maybe thoughtful of the fact that it would be too reminiscent of Death Eaters.

Harry, although he hadn't seen his friend in years, and although they had looked  _really_  different, recognized Vi immediately. It helped that they were the only person he had keyed into the wards that hadn't visited the Den yet.

"Vi !" He greeted happily.

He made to stand up, only for the books on him to almost fall down. A few careful maneuvers later, and the notebook and volumes on Herbology and Potion were put on another book pile on the table. Harry spared a mournful thought to the mess, and the time he would have to spend to clean it all. Carefully, he stood up, and jumped over all the papers littering on the floor.

He landed in a crouch, with less grace than he would have liked. Carmen, the gymnast in charge of improving his flexibility and his skills at the circus, would have cried, if she had seen him. Before promptly sentencing him to more stretching exercises and acrobatics. The thought sent a pang of longing through his very soul. He missed the circus fiercely.

Shoving the thoughts and the yearning down, Harry resolved to maybe talk about it with his family later. He had been meaning to do that for a while, now, but the time was never right. For now, though, he had a guest. He grinned at Vi, genuinely happy to see them.

"I'm so glad," He said. "I wasn't sure you would come !"

"Mou, I was promised strawberry shortcakes," Vi pointed out, as if it was the only reason they had needed to drop by after years of absence. Maybe, Harry thought wryly, it was. He certainly wouldn't put it past the greedy French witch.

"We can move to the kitchen, if you want," he said, with amusement. He shot a look at the mess that was the living room, and grimaced. "As you can see, we're having a small shortage of space."

"Yes, I can see that," Vi said. They added, curious, "Are you doing specific research ? The last time I saw you with so many books around was when you were getting ready to fight a dragon."

"Ah, well, in a way we are preparing to go against other ferocious beasts of their own," Harry said, nodding seriously. He marked a pause for dramatic effect, and said gravely. " _Exams_."

Vi, in a way that reminded Harry sharply of their meetings in fourth year, shot him an unimpressed look. Harry smiled innocently back. Behind him, someone snorted – he didn't have to turn around to guess that it was probably Ginny.

"Yes," Vi eventually drawled, "Terrifying creatures." They looked at the other people in the room, all of them somewhat buried in work. "Are you all preparing your-" they hesitated, searching for the right terminology. "N.E.W.T.s, isn't it ?"

"N.E.W.T.s and the ICW standard tests, actually," Hermione was the one to answer. Harry turned, to find that she had put one book down, and was smiling a bit hesitantly at the new arrival. "I'm Hermione, by the way. You're  _Vipère,_  right ? Harry talked about you."

"I go by Viper now," Viper answered, after shooting a small look at Harry that clearly meant  _you owe me money for this_. Vi was  _not_  a people person. "It's nice to meet you. Harry talks fondly of his family and friends."

There were a few grins at that, and Harry felt himself fidget slightly. Then, following Hermione's example, the others started to introduce themselves. Viper replied politely to them all, and when Ron inquired hesitantly about their pronoun, the French witch informed them blandly that they were gender-neutral, and as such preferred  _they/them_. When Hannah asked how long they were staying, Viper said that they would remain for a few days at most.

"That's nice," Luna said in her usual dreamy way, "Are you staying for dinner then ?"

Viper, had they not a very good control over their facial expression, would have grimaced at the thought of having dinner with such a large group. Sure, Harry had invited them here to meet all of his family but the illusionist was  _not_  a social person by any means. So while they kept a neutral face, Viper started to think on excuses to miss on the dinner – maybe plead travel fatigue and retreat in the nice room that Andromeda had given them.

Of course, they had somehow managed to forget that their friend was an expert at blatant, unrepentant emotional manipulation.

"That would be really nice," Harry said, adding innocently as he looked at them, "What do you want to eat ? I'll do something special for the occasion."

"I don't want to impose-" Viper started, trying to get out of the trap that was  _food, cooked by Harry_.

"Nonsense, I need to do some grocery shopping anyway," Harry said, waving the excuse aside. He grinned at them. "Come on, Vi, since when do you refuse free food ?"

"Mou, fine," Viper said, definitely not pouting  _or_  looking excited by the prospect. Damn that man for  _always_  bribing them with food. Maybe Viper should kill him for knowing that dreadful weakness. "Then I want some grilled duck. Do what you want for the side-dishes."

"I can do that," Harry said, nodding to himself, clearly already making a recipe in his head. He turned to Andromeda. "I'll be right back. If Teddy wakes up-"

"Harry, we'll be fine for a little while," Andy said, shaking her head fondly, "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of Teddy for the time it takes you to go buy some groceries."

"Oh, I wasn't saying-" Harry immediately tried to explain, reddening – he hadn't meant to insinuate that his family wasn't capable of taking care of themselves without him. He knew they could. He was just-

"I know, you're just protective," Andy soothed his fear. She smiled at him, and made a shooing gesture. "Go buy those groceries."

Harry graced her with a sheepish grin, and disapparated almost without a sound to his room, to put on some shoes at the very least. Barely a few minutes later, Viper heard him call 'I'm off' from the staircase. Once again, there was barely a 'pop' to signal his departure. The Mist blinked blankly at Andromeda.

"I didn't know it was possible to apparate this quietly," they remarked with wonder.

"Yes, us neither," Hermione was the one to inform them huffily from her seat. "He started doing it a bit before- before the battle." She huffed again, rolling her eyes and completely ignoring the fact that she had stammered. "The worst part is that he doesn't seem to realize it shouldn't be possible."

"Well," Ginny said, with a wry sort of wisdom that told Viper that it was a running joke, "It's  _Harry_."

The group chuckled, even though Hermione and one of the twins – Padma, was it – huffed again. Apparently, this simple statement explained it all.

Viper thought back on the boy that had befriended them without really knowing why, who had outflown a dragon, and had been able to perform spells and feats of magic that older students struggled with.

Maybe, they thought wryly, it  _did_  explain it all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

When Harry got home from grocery shopping, it was to find Andy, in the kitchen, looking bemused. Teddy, sitting in his grandmother's lap, was having a staring contest with Viper. The toddler, obviously, had mimicked instinctively the looks of the new person as best as he could, and was also sporting indigo hairs, eyes, and odd tattoos on his cheeks.

"Do I want to know ?" Harry asked, making everyone turn to him.

Teddy, catching sight of his favourite person, lit up like the sun, and immediately his hair went messy black and his eyes green, triangles disappearing from his cheeks. Viper made an odd noise in their throat, and Andy had to clearly hide her amusement.

"Harry," Vi said, "You didn't tell me your godson was a metamorphmagus."

"He takes it from his mother," Harry replied, putting the grocery bags on the counter.

"My daughter," Andromeda informed Viper, her voice a bit strained. The amusement had bled out of her expression, leaving a bland smile behind. "She was the first to get the family trait in a few generations."

"I see," Viper said, adding softly, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Andy nodded, smile tight in a way that Harry had become very familiar with, over the months. He went to her, rubbing small circles on her shoulder, even as he smiled at Teddy – or tried to smile, since he knew full well that he too had trouble being genuine when those they had lost were mentioned. Or when his family was hurting – which was the case right now. The boy was smart, though. His hair changed to a dull mousy brown, as did his eyes, reflecting the morose mood.

Once again, seeing that, Harry was reminded of why he didn't listen to that longing he had to go on the road to find his circus again. He had a duty here, to Teddy, and Andy, and all of his family. He couldn't just leave them, to selfishly go and have fun. No matter what he wanted to do.

"Right," Andy said suddenly, taking a deep breath and straightening a little. "I think I'll leave you two to catch up. Teddy and I can go take a walk around the garden, right Teddy ?"

Teddy made a sound that could have been an agreement, his hair shifting back to black. Viper eyed the shift with interest, once more, but didn't comment.

"If you want to go rest, we'll watch Teddy," Harry told Andromeda.

"No need, Harry, I'm fine. I can take care of myself, and Teddy," Andromeda said, rather sharply. She softened the bite of her tone with a small smile. "You haven't seen each other in years, right ? Teddy and I are just going to the garden. We're not going anywhere. Viper, on the other hand, won't be staying around too long. So enjoy it."

Harry nodded, a bit meekly – as always, he forgot that he could come across as overbearing when he was just trying to care. Of course, it was probably due to the fact that he didn't quite know how else to do things. His only real parental guidance were the Weasleys, and Mrs Weasley fussed a lot. Harry had just picked up on it a little, even without meaning to.

Andromeda gave a smile, to show that she wasn't upset at him, and tugged Teddy along to go walk in the garden. The toddler, while he preferred to be carried in someone's arms most of the times, had started to walk hesitantly, not too long ago. Harry had actually taken to take small walks around, holding his godson's hand, to help Teddy progress.

Once the door had closed behind them, Harry put the grocery bags in one of the charmed cupboards – stasis charms for the win.

"Right," he said, turning to Viper, "Tea ?"

"Please," Viper nodded. While Harry set to prepare the tea, mostly with a few twirls of his wand to boil the water and set the porcelain in front of them, the illusionist commented, "Lady Tonks is a formidable woman."

"That, she is," Harry admitted, adding a bit wryly, "Although you can call her Andromeda. She likes that better." He put a bag of leaves to infuse in the hot water, and sat down. "I'm lucky to have her around, really. She's always setting me right when I'm being stupid, or when I'm doing something wrong without noticing. I'm not sure what I would do without her. Or the others, really."

"I'm sure you would manage," Vi said simply.

They had meant it more in relation to the fact that Andromeda had almost decapitated them when she had seen Viper standing in front of the house in their usual hooded cloak. Then, calm as you please, as if she hadn't just attempted to brutally murder them, the Lady had informed Viper that having a dark hood up in a house full of war survivors wasn't the smartest course of action.

In retrospect, Viper could admit that it  _was_  a bit insensitive of them, given that Death Eaters were known to be dressed in dark hooded cloaks. So they had put the hood down, despite their dislike of showing their face. In the face of being killed – even if just by reflex – it seemed like the lesser of two evils.

But sure. Viper supposed that managing to make Harry see sense was just as impressive as almost beheading them for their fashion sense.

Truthfully, though, they were glad that there was at least one person making sure Harry wasn't overdoing anything. He had always been too giving, when he found something to protect. The sort to put himself on fire to keep others warm.

Hopefully, that family of his would teach him that there were other ways to do things. Ways that didn't involve Harry getting hurt in the process.

As the young man served the tea, the Mist inspected him a bit more thoroughly.

He had grown a lot, from the rather short but gangly teenager that had befriended them in his fourth year. Sure, the general looks were the same, but he was taller now, and a bit broader. He had filled up a little, too, which Viper was pretty sure was his 'family's doing – Harry was a wonderful cook, but he always ate woefully little, as if he didn't deserve his share.

The war and other hardships that their friend had faced were still visible as well. There was the small nick of a scar, right above his cheekbone, that hadn't been there before. His other, more infamous facial scar was surprisingly less visible than it had been as well. But scars weren't the only things that were so telling.

The dark smudges under his eyes, the small twitching reflexes, and the look in his eyes were just as obvious to the informant. Harry had always had too old eyes for his age, but now they had a tiredness in them that hadn't been there before. He used to be always so determined, a born-fighter in many senses of the term. Now, though, he looked like he was done fighting.

Well, Viper certainly thought he deserved a long holiday. If  _their_ last years had been tense and unpleasant, they didn't even want to know how awful it had been for Harry. Which certainly begged the question of what he was planning to do now.

…Well, it wouldn't hurt to ask. Harry would tell them if they were being intrusive.

"You are all studying very hard for your exams, it seems," Viper said, blowing on their tea. "You have plans, then ?"

"It's more of a milestones, really," Harry said, "A way to get started at a normal life again." He made a face. "We're all discovering the  _wonders_  of spending most of our schooling dealing with other things.  _Oddly_ , knowing how to deal with murder attempts isn't something you can write on your resume. Who knew ?"

"How incredibly surprising," Viper said in a deadpan. "Are you telling me you  _don't_  need to know how to rescue people from a magical lake for most jobs. For shame."

"I know, right ?" Harry said, mock-serious. He snorted, and took his tea-cup, not yet drinking. "More seriously, though. There are a lot of things that none of us ever heard about before now. It makes studying difficult, having all those holes in our knowledge. And some things – Runes and Arithmancy, for example, should really be made mandatory."

"Well, Hogwarts' standards for education have been falling for a while now," Vi said. "Albus Dumbledore was a great man, and a very accomplished and powerful wizard, but he was holding too many positions all at once and not delegating enough. He didn't have time to look at what his school had become. That's all it takes for things to deteriorate."

That, and the ICW should have come to investigate matters a lot sooner. But then again, the British Ministry had always been an old-fashioned and proud one, blind to their own faults. It wasn't surprising that they wouldn't want anyone else sticking their nose where they didn't belong, and that they kept their heads in the sand about how bad things had become.

However, as interesting as this discourse was, it was an old topic, one that they had already broached once or twice in the past. Viper liked talking politics, and was well informed on a lot of things pertaining to governments, laws, finance and other similar topics. It was both something they had been raised to know, and something they cultivated for their chosen job. What kind of information broker didn't know which way the wind was blowing ? But Harry didn't like those topics as much, and Vi was currently more interested in what their friend would do in the future.

Which had been what they had been asking, but somehow they had gotten a bit misdirected.

"But that's neither here nor there," they went on, "What are you going to do with those diplomas, once you have them ?" Harry opened his mouth, and Viper cut him off, sensing the tangent coming. " _You_ , Harry, not your friends and family. They can tell me themselves over dinner, what  _they_  want to do. I'm sure it'll make for good conversation starters, since you  _insist_  on me being social."

"I promise I'll bake you the  _best_  strawberry shortcake ever to make up for it," Harry teased. Viper shot him the look they felt this comment – and yet again attempt at misdirection – deserved. Harry sobered. "Right, well." Harry said. He fidgeted, and took a small sip of his tea, grimacing when it proved to still be too hot. "I actually don't know. I tried the Auror training, but it didn't work out at all."

"No ?" Viper said.

"No," Harry said, "I'm- sincerely ? I'm not doing well with orders, and with the attention. I do well at some of the aspects, like undercover stuff – that's fun." He smiled a little, but it was short lived. "But the fighting, and apprehending dark wizards ? I've had enough for a while."

"Mou," Vi admitted the point. It certainly went with what they had observed, and they couldn't blame Harry for wanting some quiet for a while. "Understandable."

"What about you ?" Harry asked. "What are you doing these days?"

Viper decided that for now it was enough, and allowed the change in topic graciously. They could always go back to it later, when Harry felt like it. Or when they had gotten to know Harry's friends better and could corner him into answering.

Possibly with blackmail.

"Mou, that's private information," Vi said, eventually. "You don't have the money to buy it."

"So, more shady stuff, huh," Harry summarized, looking a bit amused by his friend's behaviour. "One day you'll tell me what it is."

"Maybe," was Viper's non-committal reply.

"But you can tell me if it makes you happy, right ?" Harry went on, always so stubborn when the well-being of his friends was concerned.

"Yes, Harry," Vi huffed, rolling their eyes inwardly. Andromeda was right, he was being even more of a mother-hen than usual. "I'm happy."

"Good," Harry smiled, looking pleased. "You look happy." A flat look was sent his way. "Although, you know-" he made a rather vague gesture with his hand, "- _blue_. How did  _that_  happen ?"

Once more, Viper allowed the change in topic. Better that than to talk more about their job. Besides, they supposed Harry had a right to know why they looked so different. He had clearly been dying to know. It actually begged the question of  _how_  Harry had recognized them so easily, when their appearance wasn't the same as before. But then again, it was  _Harry_.

…Viper had the feeling they were going to use that phrase to explain a  _lot_  of things about their friend from now on.

Right, moving on to their change in appearance.

They pushed a strand of hair to reveal a triangular fang-shaped earring. They took it off, and immediately their androgynous, indigo looks melted to reveal their 'real' appearance. Harry looked fascinated and impressed. Viper very consciously did  _not_  preen.

"That's amazing," he said, and took the offered earring. He inspected it. "Did you enchant it ?"

"Not exactly," Viper said, slowly, extending a hand to take it back. "That would be too complicated, and risky."

"You always were good with charms, glamours and illusion-based magic, though," Harry pointed out, giving the jewel back. "That, and mind magic."

Viper didn't deny the statement, although it wasn't quite the truth. While they  _were_  quite good at charms, and glamours, and were  _really_  good at any magic affecting the mind, most of their talents actually rested on their flames. Mist flames were wonderful for illusions, and anything affecting perceptions of any kind.

They didn't say so, however.

The Satute of Secrecy and Omerta were pretty much mutually inclusive, and in theory talking about magic in the mafia or talking about flames in the magical community should be perfectly fine.

Key words being ' _in theory'_.

In practice, it actually depended on a lot of things. Current location, nationality, circumstances, identity, intent, the position of the stars and the mood of the Vindice that day, among other things. To make things simple, breaking either of the secrecy oaths to the other secret community was a pain in the ass and a fifty-fifty chance of winning a one-way ticket to Vendicare or the nearest wizarding prison.

Even though it was 'theoretically' allowed.

Harry might be Viper's friend, one of their  _best_  friends, in fact – if not the only one – but there was only so much they were prepared to do for him. Risking prison was  _not_  their idea of fun. Especially a magical or underground prison.

(Although they had no illusions that if Harry bribed them with food again, they might just do something foolish. But  _damn_  his cooking was divine.

Not that they would admit it.)

So, instead of replying, they simply put their earring back in place, feeling the illusion on it anchor itself to Viper's flames. It was a rather simple system, for someone such as Viper, and something that provided extra-security.

Anyone was able to see through illusions, with a strong enough will. Viper knew that, and knew that even if they were one of the best, there were people that could still see them, if they used an externally applied illusion, or a simple glamour.

Internal illusions, though, anchored  _inside_ their flames, were much harder to see through, because they were much more stable and didn't depend on strength. Viper would like to meet someone able to see through their disguise, (and then would need to kill them for being such a threat to their privacy).

"Could you make me something similar ?" Harry asked suddenly, if hesitantly, still looking at the fang-shaped earring.

Viper blinked at him, surprised by the inquiry. They nodded, slowly, unsure of where this was going.

"I could," they admitted, "Why ? Did you have something in mind ?"

"Nothing very specific," Harry said, a bit too fast for it to be believable. Viper leveled him with a  _look_. Harry looked away. "It's just an idea. I'm not really sure if I'll end up actually doing something with it." He huffed, dragging a hand through the mess that was his hair. "I just- need a disguise, you know ? I can't go outside without fearing I might end up jumped, either by a rabid fan or a runaway Death Eater."

Well. Viper could certainly sympathize with that. Appearances were always so stupidly important. They couldn't blame Harry for wanting a way to escape from it.

"I could do it," Viper said, "For a fee, of course."

"Of course," Harry said, looking both fond and terribly relieved. He added, a touch mischievous, "Can I pay you in food ?"

"Mou," Viper said, trying to hide their eagerness, "I'll think about it."

Harry, the perceptive little bastard that he could be sometimes, looked way too knowing for Viper's tastes. So they were properly vindicated with the way their next question made his expression change.

"So," they said, "What exactly did you have in mind ?"

Harry looked sheepish, and a bit embarrassed.

"Well," he started, "I was thinking of a set of piercings..."

Viper felt their brow climbing up without consent, with every word that spilled out of Harry's mouth. While a change in appearance was understandable, and a change of voice would be even smart… This was a little. Hm. Eccentric.

Purple hair ? Purple  _eyes_  ? What the hell.

Well. While that wasn't exactly what they had been expecting, they  _could_  do it. It might even be a fun sort of challenge.

However…

"That is a very  _specific_  request," Viper pointed out. They drawled, "I'm not sure it's the sort of look I would use for a simple disguise, hm ?"

Harry fidgeted, and looked at his tea-cup like it was the most interesting thing he had ever witnessed. How he could be such a  _terrible_  liar sometimes and yet other times fool even the best of them was completely beyond Viper.

They were tempted to keep drilling a hole through Harry's head with their eyes alone, and see how long he would last. But given it was  _Harry_  and that 'stubborn' was probably one of his middle names…

Viper gave him a look.

"What are you planning ?" They asked.

"You make it sound like I have some nefarious plot," Harry grumbled, then stubbornly shut his mouth again.

"Well, I don't know," Viper said, drolly, "Given how your plans end up, overall, I'm tempted to think you might do it on purpose."

"...You'll laugh, if I tell you," Harry said in a mumble. Viper wasn't impressed.

"Humour me," they said.

But Harry, proving that  _yes_  he  _was_  this stubborn, stayed silent. Viper narrowed their eyes at him. Which, if their friend had bothered to look at something  _other_  than his tea-cup, he would have seen – and thus known that Viper was planning something that would probably end badly for him.

But he didn't look, and so didn't suspect anything when Viper eventually sighed.

"Fine," they said, relenting. "Be that way. So. Tell me about your godson instead. Teddy, wasn't it ?"

Harry looked a bit suspicious, but was  _way_  too relieved to actually question his good fortune.

Viper would make sure he regretted that oversight at dinner.

 

 

Dinner, all in all, was a surprisingly pleasant affair. And  _no_ , Viper was not saying that because the food was wonderful. Even if it  _was_.

The truth was, the company was surprisingly… tolerable.

Sure, it got a bit loud by moments, and there were some  _personalities_  in the lot that were truly bemusing, but Viper adapted pretty quickly. They had seen weirder and livelier in the mafia.

Although the Mist suspected Harry's family was actually trying to behave, somewhat, so as not to scare them away. That, and apparently there were a few people missing – like a few Weasleys – so they weren't at full potential. Which, given that they were already being very  _lively_  and odd, was quite a terrifying thought.

One had to wonder how a family reunion where no one held back would end up. Viper wasn't sure whether to be afraid or morbidly curious.

The information broker was actually so swept up in conversations and simply the atmosphere, that they almost didn't recall their plan to uncover Harry's so-called 'nefarious plot'. But, unfortunately for their friend, Viper  _did_  remember it, eventually, over dessert, when George Weasley told them what he planned to do in the future – and Vi was actually quite interested in buying some share of that joke shop, it sounded like a good investment.

"Oh, right," they said, and they  _might_  have sounded a tad too innocent, because Harry turned a look on them. Paranoid little bugger. But clearly not paranoid enough. "Talking about future plans. Apparently Harry had an idea, but he wouldn't tell me what it is. Do you know about it ?"

George blinked at them. As did most of the others, looking a bit surprised, before turning to look at Harry with a bemused expression. Harry who was staring at Viper in shock.

Now, Viper tried, honestly, they  _did_. But they couldn't help radiating a bit of smugness.

Harry looked comically betrayed.

" _Viper !_ " He exclaimed.

"What ?" Viper said, perfectly neutrally and innocently. Oddly, Harry didn't seem to buy it. "I thought it  _wasn't_  some secret plot ?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but by then the damage was done. And Viper only had to lean back in their chair, and watch as the whole group started interrogating Harry for them. While eating a  _delicious_ strawberry shortcake.

Ah, that was the life.

Of course, that so-called interrogation wasn't being very effective, given that everyone was talking at the same time and not asking the same questions. Eventually, Harry seemed to decide that enough was enough, and stood up suddenly.

"Fine !" He shouted, and then quieted down when Teddy's hair shifted grey and Andromeda shot him a glare. "Fine. I was going to tell you eventually, you know. It's not like it's- well." He huffed, sitting back down and looking a bit uncomfortable. "I wasn't  _sure_. I'm just thinking about it."

"About what ?" Ron asked.

"Well, you know how I was left alone at the Dursleys in the summers, without contact or anything productive to do ?" Harry said.

Both Hermione and Ron flinched a little, and immediately started to apologize for that. Harry waved the apologies off.

"I told you, it's forgiven, no need to apologize all the time," he told them. "You didn't want to disobey Dumbledore, and writing to me  _was_  a security risk. I get it."

"We still should have-" Ron started, looking upset at himself.

"It doesn't make it  _okay_ -" Hermione tried to say at the same time, looking just as upset and guilty.

"Look, we were kids. If anything, Dumbledore was the one that should have known better than to leave me alone with  _them_  after everything," Harry sighed. Viper got the impression that it wasn't the first time the three had this talk. It sounded like an old argument. "Anyway, not the point. The point is that, well." He grimaced. "I  _didn't_  actually stay at the Dursleys all of the time."

Harry clearly took the dumbfounded silence an accusation of some sort, because he cringed. Hurriedly, he soldiered on, babbling about what he had done, instead, during the summers, talking almost too fast to understand.

Still, the gist of it was pretty clear, and Viper was soon torn between laughing hysterically or face-palming. Since they had more restraint than that, though, they just stared blankly at their friend. Friend who eventually stopped talking, looking a bit out of breath and really uncomfortable. As if at court, awaiting judgement.

"You joined a circus," Viper eventually repeated, because apparently everyone else couldn't manage to compute the statement.

"Erm, yes ?" Harry said, cringing a bit.

"To do  _stunts,_ " Viper went on. "Death defying, muggle, motorbike stunts. While disguised as an emo purple kid." They couldn't even manage more than a blank stare at this point, as they poked mournfully at their empty plate. Not enough cake to deal with this. "I'm not sure if it was genius or pure insanity."

Admittedly, he never got caught, so point to him for the hiding place and disguise.

On the other hand… Harry Potter, stuntman in a circus. What the hell. Viper was  _not_  paid nearly enough to deal with the sheer insanity that was their friend's life. How did the others even  _cope_  with shenanigans of this magnitude on a regular basis ?!

Of course, that was the point when George started laughing helplessly – frankly, it sounded more like cackling.

Harry turned wide eyes on the red head, looking like a startled bunny. It was as if a dam broke. Suddenly, everyone was either laughing, or groaning in a long-suffering manner. Andy's lips were twitching, even as she shook her head. Next to her, Ginny had no such restraints and had slipped out of her chair, laughing so hard there were tears on her cheeks.

"Only you, Harry," Hermione huffed, not unkindly, "Only you."

Harry, finally, seemed to realize that it meant they weren't mad at him or whatever it was he had feared. A sheepish grin lit his features.

Well. It seemed like Viper was going to have to make those piercings, after all.

...They wondered if Harry would let them have a cut of the profits, if Viper helped advertise his show once he went back.

(Because, let's be honest. He was going back.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is getting in the way of many things, so the next update will hopefully be next week, but I can't promise anything.  
> Enjoy!

Florencia, Harry decided, was a beautiful city, if a little too full of tourists. In the crowds no one really paid attention to him and his family. Harry was thankful for that. Next to him, Andy was looking around with something of a wistful expression. Teddy, perched on Harry's shoulders, was loudly pointing to everything and anything he found interesting.

Unsurprisingly, to the two years old a  _lot_  of things seemed interesting.

"Calm down, Teddy," Harry said with amusement, as he felt his godson bounce in excitement on his shoulders as they neared what seemed to be an ice-cream parlour. "We'll get ice-cream later."

As Teddy squealed in delight, Andy shook her head indulgently at the two of them. Still, she was smiling a little, and Harry found himself relaxing further and sent her a happy grin. Her smile softened, and she linked her arms with his own.

"You spoil him," she told him, although there was no clear reprimand in her tone.

"Ah, but he's too cute not to," Harry sighed in mock-resignation.

Andy snorted, but Harry caught how she gazed fondly at her grandson, as his hair shifted once more – to a darker, curlier version, reminiscent of her own. Harry was certainly grateful for the Notice-me-not charm they had put on his features, as people would probably freak out with the little boy's transformations.

Teddy pointed at yet something else, Andromeda listening to his intent babbling with a smile. Harry couldn't help his own smile, at their obvious happiness. Travelling seemed to do his family as much good as it did him, it seemed.

Harry had been scared, when he'd told his friends that he would go find his circus again come his nineteenth birthday. It was foolish, perhaps, to fear that out of  _everything_  that he did, this would be the stick that broke the camel's back. He couldn't help it, though, and had been terribly anxious.

Which had made the fact that none of them were even  _remotely_  surprised  _very_  anticlimactic.

 _Harry_  had been the most surprised one, in the end, with their lack of reaction.

Of course, in hindsight, perhaps they had seen it coming. He  _had_  been growing very restless, and more and more fed up with Britain and the magical society. Hermione did say, very wryly, that they had all expected him to snap at some point and take off without warning.

"So, really, we're just glad you warned us," Ron had added, with an amused grin.

"Besides," Ginny had commented from her own corner, looking just as amused with his surprise as her sibling, "It's not like you'll never come back to visit. The Den  _is_  your house, after all."

Harry had obviously confirmed that – he didn't intend to disappear, just to travel freely. He just felt... stuck. Stagnant.

Although, in the end he wasn't the one that came back home to visit the most. It turned out that his family and friends were all shameless in taking advantage of his 'free travel' gift from the Ministry, and used every occasion they had to drop by. Most of them stayed a few days, sometimes following the circus and Harry along for the ride, sometimes simply visiting the latest city stop and enjoying the show that Harry provided free tickets for.

His friends came and went, leaving eventually – but never long enough that Harry would truly miss them. Hermione and Ron were those that visited the most often. Hermione, especially, took great interest in visiting everything and getting to know new cultures. She and Ron had come by barely a week previous, and together they had visited the Magical Center of Venice.

Right now, though, only Andy and Teddy were left travelling with him.

It had been Harry's decision to take his godson with him. Perhaps travelling around with a circus was not the best thing when one had a toddler, but Harry didn't want to leave Teddy. He took his duties as godfather very seriously. Of course, Andromeda had accepted, only under the condition that she would accompany them.

Given that Harry couldn't take care of Teddy all the time, since he had work, he was terribly glad for her. Andy was a godsend.

Harry was still surprised at how well Andromeda had adapted to his Skull persona, and the circus. She was learning Romanian, and the basics of the languages of each country they went through, while Teddy absorbed it all like a sponge. They both suspected that the kid would grow up to be pretty multilingual. Given their lifestyle, it was only natural.

Harry, of course, was the one who spoke the most languages yet. He had since long mastered Romanian – so much that he liked to pretend that it was 'Skull's mother language. He had started reverting to it naturally whenever he could, when he was the purple stuntman.

He had learned Bulgarian too, courtesy of keeping in touch with Viktor Krum for a while. He obviously still spoke French, with both Viper and Fleur making sure that he didn't loose his grasp on the language.

The book Hermione had gotten him in fifth year had quickly become Harry's 'go to' book for languages in every new country they visited. He was already well on his way to learn Spanish and Italian, all the while working on his now  _very good_  grasp on German. Translating Charms and Learning Spells were just the best thing in the world.

He hoped to soon get on Russian, and then move to Chinese, and Japanese, and other Asian languages. Harry just  _yearned_  for more travel, to broaden his horizon and see more of the world, learn more about life. He had always felt so restricted, that now that he could finally be free, he needed to test the limits. And thus far, there  _weren't_  any.

He wondered what Viper would say to  _that_.

Viper had certainly found his Skull persona hysterical, if the way they had laughed when they had popped up during one of his performances was any indication. They were still laughing later, when they had all gone back home once the show was over. Harry had pouted a little, but in the end had simply grinned – it was rare to see Vi laughing so hard, after all.

Besides, it was thanks to them that he was a bit more assured in his disguise, what with the piercings they had gifted him. The enchanted set that made his whole appearance shift was an incredible boon, and it was one of the major reasons he had finally felt secure enough to go travelling.

Viper had been very supportive of his decision to travel, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ' _finally_ ' when he had announced his departure. Still, they had cautioned him to ' _not revert to bad habits and attract trouble_ '.

As if he did it on purpose!

The taciturn Mist user had become a regular visitor in his life. With the war over and done with, and both of his and Vi's lives on more stable tracks, it was easier to keep in touch. Most people in his group of friends –  _his_   _family_  – might find his friendship with Vi to be an odd thing. To Harry, it was the most natural thing in the world.

Still, his family had integrated Viper easily enough, and Harry was very happy with that – although sometimes he had suspicions that they were all conspiring together with the illusionist against him. He had no proof, though, and well. If they were happy plotting ways to make him eat or sleep more, then who was he to object? Their happiness made him happy in turn.

He  _liked_  the fact that they all got along.

"Edward, do not point at people, it's rude!" Andy suddenly reprimanded her grandson, dragging Harry out of his thoughts. Then, in rudimentary Italian, " _I apologize for him_."

Someone muttered an acceptance, and they moved away, not sparing them more than a cursory glance before dismissing them. That was nice. Harry still wasn't used to that.

Harry Potter was known in magical Britain, mostly, and a bit over magical Europe, but even then his features weren't too clear and as long as he hid his scar under his bangs, and wore lenses instead of his glasses, he was good. In the muggle world, no one even batted an eye at him.

On the other hand, his Skull disguise tended to attract more attention these days.

Skull Demort – and  _yes_ , the last name was intentional, and a big fuck you to the dark lord who was probably turning in his grave at the thought of his name associated with a flashy purple stuntman – was more well-known to muggles than Harry Potter was to wizards.

In a twist of irony, the disguise that was Skull had become too effective, until it had the opposite effect. No one recognized him as Harry Potter,  _but_ everyone recognized him anyway. Oddly, purple hair, piercings and flashy personality were less easy to hide from people. Who knew.

That, and the posters – fortunately not showing his face – didn't help him keep a low profile, with Skull's steadily rising fame.

Still, Harry thought, he preferred to be known for what Skull did than for Harry Potter's actions.

He had  _chosen_  to be Skull. Harry Potter, not so much.

Harry, Andy and Teddy finally made their way to the ice-cream parlour, weaving through the crowd. As Andromeda ordered a black chocolate cone, and a small vanilla one to share with Teddy, Harry found himself scanning the crowd. He had thought he'd seen-

Andy called him, and he turned back to the vendor, smiling at him and apologizing in his accented Italian. He ordered a pistachio cone, and paid for it.

Then, linking his arm with Andy's again, and Teddy back on his shoulders happily licking at his cone – his hair now a happy vanilla blond – Harry pulled them back in the crowd and towards a bench on a side of a nearby plaza. They sat down, finally, and Andy let out a relieved sigh. They  _had_  been walking since the morning.

Florencia was very nice, but their feet were hurting. Teddy, of course, having spent a good part of the walk on his godfather's shoulders, was still as energetic as always, but at least he was focused on his ice-cream.

Which meant, Harry realized with dawning dread, that he would soon become hyper on sugar.

"Maybe we should go back to the flat, after that," Andromeda suggested, a bit tiredly, as if realizing that same fact. She smiled at Harry, wryly, "You might be young, but I'm not so much any more."

"Andy, you're only 47 years old," Harry said, unimpressed.

"Ah, but I feel thirty more than that," Andy said, adding in a mock-sigh, "I'm a grandmother, Harry."

Harry snorted, and she smiled at him. He shook his head at her antics. It was true that she looked older than she had before the end of the war, the death of her family hitting her hard and making her look closer to forty than to the 'barely-a-day-over-thirty' look she'd had before.

Still, being a powerful witch and still young by wizarding standard, Harry knew her complaints were nothing more than noise. She would look forty for  _years_ , still, probably until she hit seventy.

Harry tried not to think about how his own power levels might keep him alive longer than most people he knew. It wasn't something he liked to reflect upon.

"Well, grandma Andy," he said, with a teasing smile, "I suppose we can ask Teddy if he feels like sparing us." Andy laughed, as he turned to his godson – who had put ice-cream all over his face. Harry patiently wiped his face clean with a tissue, before asking the boy. "What do you say, Teddy, do you want to go back to the flat? Or do we continue?"

"Dad?" Teddy inquired cutely – and Harry felt a pang in his chest, like always when Teddy referred to him as his father.

"I don't mind either way," he told his godson, smiling at him. "Aren't you tired?"

Teddy pouted a little, but nodded reluctantly. He  _was_  tired, a little. Harry chuckled when next to him Andy discreetly made a victory sign. However, it was very short lived, since Teddy decided he would take the initiative and jumped down the bench, before starting walking. He had apparently seen something interesting, as he exclaimed delightedly and sped up. Harry and Andromeda hurried after him, not wanting to loose him among the tourists.

"Teddy!" Andromeda called, worry in her voice, "Please, slow down!"

"Damn it," Harry cursed, as he tried to keep sight of his godson- and damn that shifting ability, making it harder to spot him. Louder, he called, "Teddy, come back!"

Just as he was about to give in and take out his wand to find his godson, Andromeda gave a relieved cry, and hurried towards the fountain. There, Teddy was perched on the edge of the water, looking at the shimmering colours inside, his hair taking an almost rainbow colouring.

Andy got to him, and swept him in her arms, smoothing his hair with relief. Immediately after, she put him back down, and started scolding him in earnest for running off on his own.

Harry could see Teddy's face contorting in a guilty-sad-upset manner, the way children did when they were scolded for something wrong they had done. Distressed to see  _he_  had distressed his grandmother.

He was just about to reach them, when a man suddenly came up to Andy- and grabbed Teddy roughly, pushing the witch to the ground. Harry's eyes widened, and he took off running after the man and his godson, who let out a scream of fright.

" _Out of the way,_ " he snarled at a group of tourists that moved in his path, in Italian.

He gave chase for almost ten minutes, through crowds of stunned tourists and locals, before finally the man swerved to the right and into an alley. Harry followed, going faster without people baring the way.

Finally, he managed to catch up with the would-be kidnapper, and without even thinking about it Harry grabbed hold of the man's shoulder. The guy almost seemed surprised- but then he stopped, and tried to punch him.

Harry's eyes narrowed, ducking under the hit, reflexes kicking in. He couldn't hit back, since the man could risk dropping Teddy and hurting him. However- gathering the magic that was boiling in his veins, he grabbed hold of the guy, and  _pushed_  his magic out.

It was as if he'd electrocuted him, and the man dropped like a stone.

Immediately, Harry grabbed Teddy out of his limp arms, letting the guy hit the ground while he hugged his godson to his chest, murmuring soothing reassurances to his crying child.

"Hush, darling, I'm here, Dad's here," he soothed, rocking his godson gently. "I would  _never_  let anyone take you away." He added, still gently but firmly. " _That_  is why you need to stay with us, alright?"

" _I don't think so_ ," a new voice suddenly said.

It was only a life-time of reflexes that saved both Harry and Teddy, the young wizard dropping to his knees and letting  _something_  whistle above his head. He sharply turned, standing up again and jumping out of reach, Teddy whimpering, tugged close against his chest. Harry's eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously as he caught sight of  _three_  men in the alley, one of them being the one attacking him with a short curved blade.

" _Who the fuck are you_?" Harry asked, his Italian coming out more accented with his anger.

" _No one you should know of,_ " one of the men further in the alley answered, too smugly for Harry's tastes. " _Gut him and take the mist child._ _The boss won't be happy with the delay_."

 _Like hell,_  Harry thought, ducking out of the way of another swipe. Teddy in his arms whimpered again, and Harry cursed the fact that letting him go would be a terrible mistake, but that keeping him in his arms prevented him from fighting back.

It wasn't even breaking the Statute of Secrecy that was bothering him –  _fuck them_ , really, if they thought he wouldn't do  _anything_  to defend his son. But fighting back with Teddy in his arms would be dangerous for the boy, and Harry didn't want to hurt him accidentally.

He kept dodging, trying to back out of the alley at the same time – hopefully, finding someone would mean getting help. Harry was glad for his job as a stuntman, and for his many experiences with fights. He certainly was good at evading the blade, all the while never letting go of his godson.

He was also very relieved that none of them had guns. Given their looks, it wouldn't have been surprising. But maybe they didn't want to attract too much attention.

Finally, he heard more steps coming from behind him. He just had the time to hope it wasn't  _more_  children traffickers, when he heard Andromeda's furious voice.

"What do you think you're doing to  _my_  family!" She exclaimed.

His opponent was taken by surprise when suddenly a bag sailed past Harry, and right in his face with terrifying accuracy and strength. Being reinforced with a few charms, the bag was much  _harder_  and  _heavier_  than it looked like, and Harry almost felt sorry when he heard something break.

Almost. The bastard certainly deserved it.

Harry took the opportunity to turn to his female friend and- He almost startled at the presence of the man besides her, but since Andromeda wasn't reacting to him, Harry supposed he wasn't a danger. It explained the bag throwing, though. Muggle, but efficient.

Harry handed Teddy to Andromeda immediately, glad for her presence.

"Here, thank you," he said, before immediately turning back towards the bastards in the alley with righteous fury, and growling, " _You are going to pay for that_."

And without waiting for a reaction, he jumped back into the fray, stepping on the now unconscious blade-man – poor guy wouldn't ever look the same, his face reduced to mashed potatoes.

Teddy's would-be kidnappers clearly weren't expecting him to attack back, because they reacted too slowly. Harry's fist landed in the first's face, and his leg in the other's stomach. Grabbing the metal pole out of the second's hand while he was winded, Harry immediately added a  _good_  hit by whacking their heads with it.

He  _might_  have done it a bit too hard, since their heads collided harshly, and they dropped on the floor like dolls, but Harry couldn't bring it in himself to care. They were already lucky that he hadn't been able to use magic on them, because otherwise they would be in much worse state. He was a pacifist, but attacking his family? It deserved some good curses. Unfortunately, there was a stranger, probably muggle, with Andy.

Just for that annoyance, he gave his downed attackers a good kick in the head – it wouldn't do for them to wake up too soon, after all, and he couldn't stun them.

" _Good riddance,_ " he grumbled, kicking them one last time before turning back to where Andromeda and Teddy were. He picked her bag on the way, stepping on the unconscious guy  _again_ , and finally looked at the man accompanying her- only to do a double-take, " _Renato?_ "

The man – and it  _was_  Renato, no-one else had such surprising side-curls and deep black eyes – eyed him in surprise and dawning recognition. Finally, a surprised smirk found his lips.

" _Hello,_   _bello_ ," he greeted, in seamless, fluent Italian – if Harry hadn't known before that the man was Italian, he would have known by how he talked, " _Fancy meeting you here._ "

" _Quite,_ " Harry said, a bit stunned still by meeting the man here and now, of all times and places. It was one hell of a coincidence. His eyes narrowed, " _You don't know those guys, right?_ "

" _I wouldn't associate myself with such lowlife idiots,_ " Renato answered, looking haughtily offended by the mere accusation.

Harry sensed no lie in the arrogant statement, and if the situation hadn't been so serious he might have been amused at such thoughtless arrogance. As it was, he simply arched a brow, and Renato frowned at him, opening his mouth to probably defend himself further. Or maybe tell Harry what he thought of such baseless, insulting insinuations.

"You know each other?" Andromeda interrupted, in English, her level of Italian not allowing her to follow the conversation completely. She looked at Harry, looking a bit embarrassed, "I grabbed him to help me find you and Teddy." She turned back to Renato, and gave him a smile. " _Thank you._ "

"No problem,  _bella_ ," the man said, going back to English without trouble, and sending her a charming smile. Harry almost rolled his eyes, because  _did the man ever stop flirting_. At least the annoying holier-than-thou attitude had gone. Renato looked back at Harry, his smile becoming slightly bemused, "But clearly, I wasn't needed."

"True," Harry said, giving Andy a teasing grin, "That bag-throw was legendary." Then, more seriously. "Thank you, Andy, you came right in time."

"You would have managed without me," she replied, but she smiled nonetheless. Then, hugging Teddy a bit tighter, "Still, I think it's time we went back. Enough action for one day."

"We should, yes," Harry nodded – their small rented studio  _did_  sound like a wonderful idea right about now. He turned to Renato, "Well, it was nice seeing you again. Thank you for helping Andy." He grimaced, then, eyeing the four guys out cold on the ground. "Could you call the police, too? I don't have a phone on me."

In fact, he didn't have a phone at all. The wonders of being a wizard – technology and magic  _never_  mixed well. Any sort of 'technology' that Harry had – mostly as Skull – had been invented specifically for him. Either by himself or by a friend, too.

"I'll take care of them," Renato nodded, with an odd look on his face. Then, he added with an arched eyebrow and another charming grin –  _gods_ , Harry thought, not sure whether to be amused or not,  _there we go_ , "May I inquire where you are staying, and how long? Maybe we could grab a drink."

Andromeda's eyebrows climbed up high, even as Harry felt his cheeks redden despite his aborted eye-roll at the self-assured tone. Grab a drink, his ass. Renato clearly was aiming for something else. The man really did think a lot of himself, didn't he.

Harry did remembered one very pleasant night in the midst of a nightmare. Renato wasn't  _bad_  company. Just a touch too sure of himself, really.

Still, given what had just happened, drinking, flirting and getting laid was the last thing on his mind.

"Sorry," Harry said, "I'm really not in the mood."

"Understandable," Renato said, tilting his hat to shadow his eyes slightly, "I'm sorry that your trip to  _Italia_  was marred by such an experience."

"Not your fault," Harry said, smiling thinly. "I'm sure the rest of our stay in the country will be better."

"I would hope so," Renato said. He rummaged into his pockets, digging out a phone, "Well, don't let me keep you. Enjoy your stay in Florencia."

"Thank you," Harry told him, echoed by Andy. "Goodbye Renato."

"Nice seeing you again,  _bello_ ," Renato told him with a small smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes and gave a last smile at the man. Linking his arm with Andy, he let Teddy bury his head in their shoulders, and walked off. He ignored his friend's interrogating look. For now, there was more pressing than his harmless flirting with the Italian charmer, or the story of their first encounter. Such as Teddy's well-being.

"How about pizza for tonight, hm, Teddy?" He asked lightly. "What do you think?"

His godson mumbled something in his shoulder that sounded like a yes, and Harry smiled a little. Teddy would be fine, with a little time and attention.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry all for the wait, but as some might know I'm currently studying abroad for a semester, and the rythm is insane. I have had little time to look at my computer for anything other than to check for homework.  
> Hopefully, after this week the rythm might calm down a little. If it happens, then I should be able to finish publishing this story before the month ends, and start publishing the next one after that.  
> No promises, though, we all know how life gets in the way.  
> This chapter is both the chapter 9 and the chapter Interlude (for those that come from ffnet). So it's a bit longer.  
> Chapter 10 will be the end.

One more year gone by, and Harry could say with full honesty that life was, for all intent and purposes, good. Teddy was three years old and growing to be an adorable menace, and travelling around had done Andromeda a whole world of good. Skull was successful, and so was the circus. He was happy with where he was.

So obviously, something was bound to go wrong at some point.

He didn't realize it immediately after coming back to his caravan, still coming down from the high of a show well executed. The audience had been in raptures as he left, and Skull – not Harry, not when he wore his piercings, less confusing that way – could never get enough of that feeling. The feeling of a stunt so well done, of a show so well made that not only  _he_  was happy, but he made other people happy too.

It was one of the reasons he stayed Skull more than Harry, these days. Harry had family, and they were happy when he was there. But Skull had that same family, made them happy all the same because they didn't care who he identified as,  _and_  had a job and a public that loved him for  _him_ , and not for some stupid perception of who he should be.

Besides, staying as Skull most of the time unless he was in the safety of the Den soothed his paranoia. No one could trace him back that way, no one could link Skull and Harry Potter, and he liked it this way.

Except-

Except there was someone in his caravan.

Skull froze when he noticed it. The slightly tense feeling in the air, the unmistakable prickle of someone watching him.  _Fuck_. Slowly, warily, he turned, and finally saw the guy. He was sitting, relaxed, as though he  _belonged_  in a space that was  _Skull's_ , in one of the chairs. There was a hat on his head, and a check pattern on the mask that hid his features.

For a second, Skull contemplated the merits of attacking first and asking questions later, but that was the rash, stupid part of him speaking. Attacking when he didn't even know if the stranger was there for  _Harry_  or for  _Skull_  was more than idiotic.

Besides, there was  _something_  about the guy that just rubbed him the wrong way and made his instincts sit up and pay attention. The guy was bad news, he could feel it in his  _bones_.

" _Who the fuck are you_?" Skull asked the figure.

" _I'm an interested party_ ," the man said, in perfect Romanian.

Skull scowled, because  _that_  wasn't suspicious at all.

Still, while he put on a very convincing nervous but arrogant front – he had become quite adept at forging a whole persona, and even more so at putting it on like a mask – his mind was working on overdrive.

The man, with this odd mask, was a threat. That much was clear. Every instinct in him was screaming bloody murder, and his very being seemed to recoil from the man.

He had, however, spoken in Romanian – the language that most people assumed to be Skull's mother tongue. Which made it pretty safe to assume that whatever he wanted, he wanted it to do with Skull, not Harry. Which was good, but still not the best.

Whatever the guy wanted with him, Skull resolved here and there to say a short and resolute  _no_. He had had enough shit in his life as Harry Potter to add shit in his life as Skull! Hell, he'd created Skull  _exactly_  to have a life where he wouldn't have trouble. At least, not trouble that he hadn't chosen for himself.

So, with this in mind, he kept his Skull persona fully in place. The nervous faded a little, to show a more boasting but still discontent expression on his make-up filled face.

" _Of course you are, who isn't interested in the Great Skull-sama?_ " he asked, rhetorically. " _Still, I'm sorry, but I only meet with fans on working hours!_ "

Skull  _knew_  that this aspect of his personality was very annoying. The Japanese suffixes, no matter the language? Insufferable. The constant boasting? Cringe worthy. Add to that the emo tendencies, the cowering from anything that wasn't in his job prescription, and the extreme mood shifts, and it made for a  _very_  difficult person to like.

The worst part of it?

It had been a dare.

Yup. Skull completely blamed Daniela for it. The woman had decided it would be hilarious for Skull's public persona to be a very annoying person. Perhaps because he  _looked_  so showy when in private he was anything but, and because she knew it. She knew him as a happy-go-lucky guy, with no sense of self-preservation, but that could be very serious, a bit reserved even sometimes, and that took family  _very seriously_.

So, she had dared him to take on that persona, one that was so obviously a  _fake_  that it was almost painful, and to keep it with anyone he didn't know, or trust, and especially with the public.

Skull had complied for several reasons.

First, because he had been drunk at the time and it seemed like a good idea.

Second, because let's be honest it would be hilarious if people actually  _believed_  that he was really this annoying naturally. And even more hilarious if they discovered they'd been duped later. (Harry admitted that after having been fucked with all his life, he actually  _really_  enjoyed turning the tables on the world. It was like a prank, and pranking was in his blood, wasn't it. Just like flying.)

Third, because what better way to hide Harry Potter further and make Skull his own, distinct person than to make him have a totally unbelievable personality that didn't suit Harry at  _all._

Fourth, Vi and him had a bet regarding how long he would hold onto that persona in public, how long it would take until someone not in the know discovered it was fake. Skull had no intention of loosing that bet. He had a  _lot_  of money and food riding on it.

Yeah, Skull didn't regret that dare all that much, all things considered. Especially with the idea that Voldemort was probably turning and turning in his grave in horror at the fact that part of his name was associated with him, and more so that he had been defeated by such a person.

But back to the present, and to the creepy guy that had been waiting for him in the shadows – and people said  _he_  was dramatic.

" _I'm not a fan,_ " the man said, and Skull immediately tensed up in a visible, nervous way – against all his war-honed reflexes that wanted him to relax and appear nonthreatening so that he could properly dispose of the perceived danger. " _I have a job to offer you_."

" _Skull-sama is very busy,_ " Skull squeaked indignantly, " _And I have a job that I love and that other people love as well! Whatever you want the Great Skull-sama to do, I won't!_ "

" _I thought as much,_ " The man said, sounding resigned. " _Clouds._ " Skull blinked, because  _what the hell did the weather have to do with this_. Then the man went on, " _I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice._ "

Skull scowled at him. Really.  _Really._  He opened his mouth, prepared to deliver an angry retort, possibly to throw a punch or a curse at the  _fucking bastard who thought he could tell him what to do_  when the man gave him a file.

Slowly, cautiously, Skull approached, enough to snatch the file away quickly. He made a show of reading slowly, stopping at a few things in fake-confusion. Inwardly, though, his insides were quickly turning to lead.

The file compiled his whole life as Skull. Not only the rumours about who he was, but also real snaps of when he'd been fourteen-going-fifteen and done some of his very first stunts. Some snaps of his going to illegal tracks, too. It had a comprehensive list of all the stunts he could do, of all the injuries he'd collected, and the lethal scenarios he'd been in and survived. A list of the languages he spoke, and at what level. A list of his  _other_  skills, be it juggling, maths, or even  _the weird purple flames he could make_.

Then, there were pictures of the people he loved the most at the circus. Daniela, Ulrich, Vasile, Old Miha… Among them were Andy and Teddy.

At this point, Skull was very glad that he only dropped his persona in private, and that he was  _very_  paranoid. So much that Andy and Teddy were only seen a few times with Skull in public, and always under the guise of being faithful fans.

(When looking like Skull, Harry had taken to call Andy 'darling' and Teddy his 'Number One Fan'.

There was nothing cuter, in Harry's totally-biased opinion, than Teddy shifting his hair to purple and asking 'Skulley' for a hug. Andy had a full photo album with occasions when she and Teddy had 'met with their idol, the Immortal Skull'.)

The circus staff actually thought Skull and Andy were having an affair and Teddy might be his illegitimate son, since the pair of 'faithful fans' somehow managed to keep following them across countries. The rest of the family, of course, had learned about it and George was having no little amount of fun rubbing it in during the family reunions at the Den.

Usually, Skull took it with grace and laughed along at the joke. Now, though, staring at the pictures, it wasn't as funny any more.

It was only a small comfort, to see that nothing showed on Harry Potter, except the one picture with Andy and Teddy, speculating that Harry was another fan of Skull's. Had he been in the mood for it, Skull would have laughed himself silly at that.

The man had a  _very_  complete file on Skull, and those pictures were blood-chilling. It meant that anyone could be threatened, since the pics had been taken, and he hadn't noticed. Some had been taken when he'd thought they were alone with the circus crew. He hadn't noticed anything. At all.

He hadn't noticed a threat to his family. A very real,  _dangerous_  threat.

He could feel his magic boiling under his skin, and took a deep breath to rein in his temper. As much as he wanted to just charge the man and  _destroy him, burn him to ashes, let him taste his rage and-_

Harry knew better than that. Attacking blindly, without having all the elements, wouldn't be wise. Rashness got you killed in the war, and it was a lesson that stuck with him. Painfully.

" _What's that,_ " Skull asked, voice showing uncharacteristic seriousness – but the man  _knew_  his show persona was only  _that_ , a persona. He just didn't know that Skull  _himself_  was a persona as well. Hopefully. Maybe he knew. Fuck, he hoped not. " _Are you threatening me, mister?_ "

" _I hope it won't be necessary,_ " the man said. " _Please, skip to the end._ "

Skull did, quietly. Anyone knowing him would have known that it was the sort of quiet that was bad news. A raging,  _furious_  quiet, that led to storms and hurricanes.

The threat was clear, in the pictures, but also every detail about his life and what he loved. The stuntman had no doubt that, were he to refuse, he would have to do a  _lot_  to keep the whole circus, and a good portion of his fans, from harm's way. And that was, if he himself survived the refusal.

Which, he thought as he very subtly prodded his magic at the man, wasn't a given. The man wasn't only dangerous. He was a  _monster._  He could feel it in his bones, the way the guy practically  _screamed_ restrained raw power. It was a wonder the man hadn't noticed his prodding.

Or maybe, his paranoid mind added, he  _had_  noticed, but the man didn't care. He was  _that_  assured in his own power.

Had he been any younger, less experienced in the ways of fighting and surviving, he might have attacked anyway. No one –  _no one_ , threatened his  _family_ , his  _people_ , and got away with it. It didn't matter if he died in the process, he would  _keep them safe_.

But he didn't know how many people were with the creepy man. Maybe there were people watching Andy and Teddy right now. Maybe there were plans in place, in case he attacked. Maybe the man was too powerful anyway, and Skull would be obliterated before he could land one hit.

He couldn't do that to Teddy.

It hit him like tank, slow, painful and never stopping,  _crushing_. Refusing this thing, whatever it was, wasn't an option.

He read on, seeing the thing about  _I Presceti Sette_ , the chosen seven.

 _Seven is a powerful magical number_ , a voice that sounded a lot like Hermione whispered in his mind,  _why does he need seven people? What are they_ chosen _for?_

Skull was starting to have a really  _bad_  feeling about this. The kind of terrible feeling that made him think whatever  _this_  was, it was  _big_  and he was in for it.

Yet, he read on, trying to keep a rein on his raging thoughts.

Doing a team job with 'the best of their field'? He could do that, although the number of people who would tolerate his Skull 'show persona' weren't many. Although if they were so strong and smart they might see through it. If they were nice, he might just  _let_  them see, because misery loves company and all that.

Odd jobs? Sure. He could do that. Whatever the job, he doubted it would be too difficult. He would deal with those 'missions', and whatever they threw at him – he had dealt with worse.

Getting paid an  _astronomical_  amount? He didn't need the money, but Viper would kill him if he refused.

Yes, he could  _deal_  with all that. He could even do it  _well_ , if he so wished. Leading a team of people wouldn't be new to him – he had been a war leader, after all.

He wasn't happy about being threatened into it, though. Not at all.

But he couldn't say no. He couldn't attack and get rid of the threat. He couldn't listen to his gut, and go away, grab Teddy and Andy and disappear from the surface of the earth with his whole family, Viper as well, in one of the heavily warded safe-houses he owned.

Because, whatever  _this_  was, it was bigger than him. Bigger than the strongest seven or whatever. He could  _feel it_ in his bones, the way he had once felt in his bones that Voldemort was  _his_  to take out. It was  _destiny_.

He had a hero complex the size of an island, and knowing it didn't cure him magically of it, though he was working on it. Leaving the circus, and other people, to die if he refused and ran with Teddy and Andy? Leaving Old Miha, Daniela, Ulrich, all the crew, to suffer for his cowardice? Not an option.

Skull  _acted_  like a coward, but he wasn't one. He had learned to pick his battles – although according to Ron, he still picked too many of them. He wouldn't run from this.

So, Skull swallowed his anger, swallowed the screaming intuition that was blaring alarms in his mind. He scowled at the man.

" _I'll do it,_ " he said, and almost  _spat_  the next words. " _But don't expect me to be_ pleasant _while at it._ "

The man in the Iron Hat might have his face hidden but Skull could almost  _feel_  the smug smile. Creepy smug smile.

Yeah. He had a feeling this was going to end  _very badly_.

 

 

 

Viper was sipping on their cup of tea, in the abnormally silent Den.

They had to give it to Harry – the young man had done an admirable job of not loosing his temper at the earlier introduction meeting of the Strongest Seven. Viper had known him more volatile, and with the knowledge that he was a Cloud –  _the strongest in the world,_ at that, holy shit – they were actually surprised he hadn't exploded in everyone's faces.

Of course, Harry had always worked well under pressure, somehow keeping his cool in the face of adversity.

Now if only the still purple-haired man could stop obsessively cleaning the kitchen table, which had already been spotless and was now  _gleaming_ , Viper would be doubly glad. It was making them nervous.

"Harry," they finally interrupted, when the young man prepared himself for  _yet another_  swipe of the never-cleaner table. They quickly amended, reminding themselves that their friend was still purple, "Skull. I think that's enough. Please, sit down."

Skull paused, and looked at them. There was something in his expression that, added to the almost tangible feeling of magic and Cloud flames in the air – and  _how_  had Viper missed it for all those years – was almost scary.

Slowly, he put down the towel he had been using, and sat in front of his tea cup. It was still steaming, despite the time Skull had spent baking cookies to relax a little, and then cleaning. Viper suspected a charm on the cup.

Skull frowned at said cup, as if it was the cause of all his problems, before taking a deep breath. Viper braced themselves for an angry rant, of epic proportions-

Their friend face-planted on the table and let out a long, exasperated whine.

" _Why,_ " he groaned plaintively, "What have I done in my life to deserve this?"

Viper blinked at him warily, before huffing, wondering why they had worried.

"I mean," Skull went on, raising his face to look at Viper beseechingly, "the  _mafia_?  _Really_?!"

"You're taking this better than I thought," Viper commented blandly.

"Please," Skull snorted humourlessly, "Have you seen the mess that is my life? This is just the icing on an already iced cake. I thought it couldn't get worse- I bloody well jinxed it!" He palmed his face, looking suddenly very tired. "Organized crime. I'm getting dragged into the bloody underground. I'm not even given a choice-" He made a noise in his throat, clearly upset. " _Why do these things keep happening to me?_ "

Viper didn't reply.

They could understand where Skull was coming from, of course. After being forced to assume roles all his life, never really being given a proper choice, it had to  _hurt_  to have to go through it again. Skull had always been very attached to his freedom. As all Clouds were, really.

Seeing Skull at the meeting had been a surprise.

Seeing him falter when everyone had started introducing themselves in terms of affiliations in the Mafia and Flame types…

No one had missed it. Everyone had known, in the very moment he had faltered in his irritated-arrogant-bratty act, that Skull wasn't  _aware_  of the mafia, of flames. That he was a  _civilian_. That he  _barely_  knew what he was getting into.

Viper was the only one that hadn't missed how afterwards, Skull's mood had become even worse, expertly hidden behind his persona. How he had seethed at the dismissal, the casual arrogance of the others, the way they hadn't even deemed him to be worthy of their presence. How with each demeaning word thrown his way, he had simply acted even more annoying and bratty, all the while flexing his fingers under the table.

Viper knew Clouds. Not as well as they wanted, because Clouds were really rare so no one really knew a lot about them. Still, Viper knew that they prized freedom, and that to anger a Cloud was a pretty suicidal move. No Cloud would be caught  _dead_  in a position they didn't like.

Unless, like Skull, they had an ulterior motive, and  _something_  to protect.

Clouds were watchers, sentinels. They guarded their territory, what was  _theirs_  with everything they had. The only way to get a Cloud to agree to something, was to appeal to what he valued.

Harry had bloody well gone to  _war_  for his ideals. He had fought to the death for what was  _his_. His home, his friends, his family. He had  _killed_ , and he had  _died_ for them.

He would  _burn_  for them, if need be.

Was it any wonder that he would get into a situation that he clearly disliked, if he felt it was the only way to protect his family? No. It was exactly what Harry, what Skull would do.

Now, what mattered more was that Harry was being pulled into the Mafia, and hadn't got a clue of how it worked, or what flames were.

Viper knew Clouds, but more importantly they knew Harry. Harry was probably hearing 'mafia' and 'underground' and thinking 'criminal life' and 'assassins'. Which wasn't wrong, but wasn't all it boiled down to.

They had had the opportunity to explain everything to their friend, over the years, but had never done so, because one doesn't mess with Oaths of Secrecy, be they magical or Vindice-bound. Now, though, Skull had been dragged into it already – and clearly, no one else would bother to tell him how it worked.

Explaining everything to their friend was the least Viper could do. In a sink or swim world like this, Skull would need every piece of wood Viper could throw him to stay afloat.

(And hopefully, he would learn that it was better to use the wood to burn  _others_  rather than burn himself out. Harry had always been adaptable, and Viper could only hope that this time too he would adapt and flourish.

Even if they didn't like that he was once more dragged into a situation like this. Viper had  _chosen_  the mafia life. Skull hadn't.

Now, to make sure the Cloud didn't self-destruct on the way...)

"You will owe me," they started seriously, staring at the startled stuntman, who had been staring at his cup like he wanted nothing more than whiskey instead of tea, "Money, food  _and_  a favour. Or ten."

Skull nodded, serious. It was something that Viper appreciated – Harry had always absorbed knowledge like a sponge when it was needed. And clearly, he needed it right now.

They extended a hand, calling onto their flames. Skull stared at the indigo fire with wide eyes.

"These," Viper said, "are Dying Will Flames."

"Okay," Skull said, interrupting with a wide-eyed look. "Let me just-"

He stood up, and rummaged into the cupboards. When he came back with a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses, Viper almost snorted. But in the end, they silently agreed with the idea.

This certainly called for the strong stuff.

 

 

 

**Interlude**

 

 

 

It was only after many glasses consumed that Skull suddenly started to cackle ominously. Viper, who knew very well that their friend could be a vicious bastard when crossed, and sometimes a vindictive chaos bringer –  _somewhere, Reborn sneezed_  – eyed him warily.

"What is it?" They asked. After all, Skull had been wallowing in despairing thoughts ever since the meeting.

"I was just thinking about how those arrogant asses didn't even  _doubt_  my show persona," Skull crowed, grinning wickedly. "Even  _Reborn_  didn't see through it!"

(Somewhere, Reborn sneezed again, and narrowed his eyes.)

"Why would Reborn be any different?" Viper wondered.

"Well, we  _did_  have a fling, you know," Skull informed his friend casually, "The man has seen me at my most natural – in every sense of the term."

"..." Viper blinked at him. " _What._ "

(In the following hour, Viper got more blackmail material on Reborn than they had ever hoped to get in  _years_. More info on their friend's sex life than they ever wanted, too, but what could they do.

Obviously, given that their friendship was almost  _built_  on bets, it started a series of bets on the selective blindness of the others members of the strongest seven.

Skull had a  _lot_  of money riding on Reborn never guessing his identity unless he told him.

Viper, reluctantly, thought they might just loose that one.)

(Somewhere far away, Reborn decided to check his health. It seemed he either had allergies, or a cold… He just kept sneezing!)

 

 

 

Skull had, again, managed to get on Reborn's nerves. Given that the hitman took offense to Skull even  _breathing_  in his direction, it wasn't surprising.

"Ah!" Skull cried, flailing, as he dodged bullets. "No! Not the face, senpai! You'll ruin my good looks!"

"What good looks?" Reborn snorted.

"H-Hey!" Skull said, sounding terribly offended. "I'll have you know a lot of people want a piece of me, I'm very-"

Another bullet whizzed past him, and Skull ducked under the table with a squeak. Reborn looked at the hiding spot with a disdainful look.

" _Please_ ," he said, full of contempt. "Who in their right mind would sleep with  _you_?"

Skull, under the table, choked on his laughter, managing to make it sound like an outraged squawk.

Viper managed to keep sipping their tea, hiding the full-body twitch that came from hiding the manic cackle that wanted to escape from them.

Then Fon, the most devious bastard of all of them because  _somehow_  they always managed to forget how he could state outrageous things with a serene smile and shocking bluntness, decided to add his grain of salt.

(Viper and Skull had once agreed, upon talking about it, that it was somewhat like Luna's bluntness.

Except that they liked Luna, but didn't really care for Fon.

He might not be as much as an ass as the others, he was still pretty self-assured in an annoying way. Viper especially  _hated_  how dismissive he was of their skill with illusions.

Skull didn't like how he just stood by.)

"I don't know," the Storm said neutrally, "With how fixated you are on Skull, one might think there is some USTs there."

This time, Viper couldn't help it, and choked on their tea.

Thankfully, they weren't the only one.

 

 

 

Oodako was a surprise.

After Hedwig, Harry never had another loyal and smart pet like her. Neither did he want to. Besides, what would he have done with, say, a cat, when he was travelling around with a circus and already struggling a bit to take care of everything in his life.

He had a large family, and a son to raise. He didn't have time for a pet, and frankly Crookshank – still ugly and orange and barely tolerating Ron on a good day – was already enough of a problem-cat without adding another one.

And that was without counting all the other pets of his whole family. Thankfully, they usually left those at their private homes. Only Crookshank really came along when Hermione did.

The one time they all had actually  _talked_  about pets, was when Viper had shown them Fantasma for the first time. The magical frog that could morph into a snake was pretty cute, and really handy – although Harry would  _never_  try to approach it while in snake form, thank you very much.

"Mou, I got her from a small occult shop, during a trip in Panama," Vi told them during a meal, while Neville and Luna delighted over the small frog. "She's very smart."

"Most familiars are," Andy said, looking at the frog. "It's something that has been forgotten quite a bit, familiars, but once upon a time most people thought it necessary to have one. I never knew why, though."

"What's the difference between a pet and a familiar, though?" Hermione asked, always curious about things like that.

"Intelligence, loyalty and capacity, mostly," Ron answered. When Hermione turned to him, he shrugged. "Mum used to tell me stories about things like this. A familiar bonds with your magic without you noticing, really, and then refuses to leave, I think."

"So," Harry mused, "Fantasma is a familiar, while Trevor was just a pet."

"I don't know," Neville replied wryly, "With how he  _always_  managed to escape, I think he had it down to a form of art. No normal toad can be this devious."

They all laughed, and somehow the discussion devolved into reminiscing of their first year at Hogwarts.

Then one day, Skull came home with a red octopus in his arms, and a truly pole-axed look on his face. Andy didn't notice him right away because Teddy's hair was suddenly looking like red tentacles, and that was probably the most surprising shift the boy had managed to this day.

So of course, when an  _actual_  red Octopus suddenly launched itself at Teddy because he thought he had found a sibling, no one could blame her for shrieking a little in surprise.

"Oh my god,  _Skull!_ " She admonished when the man started laughing helplessly, while Teddy delightedly played with the octopus. "What  _is_  that? Is that the baby of the giant squid? I certainly  _hope not_!"

"No, no, of course not," Skull immediately reassured her, and he smiled at Teddy before grabbing both him and the octopus to cradle them in his arms. "That's just a regular octopus. I found him at the fish market. I actually..."

He cut himself off, looking terribly guilty, while the octopus played with his godson's hair – still looking like tentacles, which was amazing. Skull felt himself melt a little inside. He would have to make a picture of this later. Too cute.

"You bought the octopus to cook it, isn't it," Andy guessed, looking at him knowingly.

"Well, I  _wanted_  to make something new," Skull said, grimacing when the octopus froze, and turned to look at him in betrayal. He hastened to add. "I didn't know he was still alive! Of course we're not going to eat you!"

"Right," Andy said, looking terribly amused. "Well I guess this answers the question of you having a pet. Is it a salt-water creature?"

"I'm- not sure, actually?" Skull said, blinking down at the octopus. The octopus blinked in return. Skull waved a finger at it, and found the thing imitating the movement with a tentacle. Then Teddy waved an arm, and the octopus imitated his flailing too. Skull found himself melting again. "Aw, Andy, get the camera, this is so precious."

"Way ahead of you, darling," Andy snickered, from where she was taking a  _lot_  of pictures of Skull making a gooey expression at his son and new pet octopus. "What are you going to name him?"

"Er-" Skull hesitated – he had always been  _terrible_  at naming things, although never as terrible as Ginny. "Teddy, what do you think?"

"Oodako!" Teddy exclaimed, clapping his hands.

Which, Skull thought while melting from cute again, was probably to be expected when he had been learning japanese recently. Teddy always caught on languages quite fast – even if it meant that he would sometimes use words of several languages in the same sentence, and never quite grammatically correct. But they were working on that.

"We can't really-" Skull started to refute, only to receive the full blast puppy eyes of his son, added to the cuteness of the octopus staring at him in imitation. He could feel himself crumbling. He sighed, "Okay. Oodako it is."

Andy snickered again, and Skull shot her a betrayed look. Why couldn't she help him? Now he had the least originally named Octopus in the world!

 ...

"Oodako?" Verde said, looking at Skull with disdain. "Isn't that Japanese for octopus? That not very original, is it?"

"It's the Best Name Ever!" Skull immediately screeched. " _Your_  name is unoriginal! Your hair is  _green_  and you're called  _Verde_!"

Verde made a face, cheeks reddening a little, while the others snickered softly. Even Reborn looked amused – but then again, Reborn didn't like Verde and might just hate the scientist more than he did Skull. Viper, meanwhile, was rolling their eyes under their hood. Just the day before, Skull was still complaining about the stupid name.

It figured he would defend Teddy's naming sense, though.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Life did get in the way.  
> This is the last chapter of this part! Enjoy!

Harry –  _Skull_  – wanted to bash his head against the table.

Repeatedly.

Preferably until it killed him. Which, with his flames and the way Death seemed to hate him, would take a  _long_  time – but he was pretty determined right now.

Next to him, Viper tilted their head ever so slightly. On the fact that Skull  _knew_  them so well made it possible for him to guess that the Mist was currently shooting him a look.

Around them, no one seemed to realize that Skull's mood had plummeted lower than usual. Reborn –  _Renato_  was flirting with Luce, while Lal talked to Viper neutrally. Fon was watching it all with a serene smile, and Verde was scribbling something on a paper, looking pretty bored.

It could have been funny, or endearing, Skull supposed, how this sort of behaviour had become habit for their mismatched group. It could have reminded him of home, of his own very mismatched family.

However, with his instincts still screaming at him that there was something wrong, that he should  _run, run, take everyone with you hide fight protect them protect yourself-_ even after almost a year of missions, he couldn't manage to find it anything but annoying.

No one, except for him, seemed to realize there was something wrong.  _More so_  than usual.

"Skull?" Viper inquired in false boredom.

" _Ahh, the Great Skull-sama is bored,_ " he told his friend in Romanian, with a whiny tone that only the Mist knew was faked. He stood up, garnering a few looks, and grabbed his file with a scowl, " _The Great Skull-sama has better things to do than stay here with people that don't appreciate his awesomeness!_ "

" _Oh_ _?_ " Renato – _Reborn_  – said, a dangerous purr, looking at him, his weapon already in hand. He went on in Italian. " _What did you say, Lackey?_ "

Skull dodged the bullets that came raining on him with a loud, panicked shriek, and flailed around. Lal frowned, but didn't bother telling Reborn to stop – it was an exercise in futility. Luce looked worried, but didn't do anything either. Skull barely dodged one shot that would have hit him in the shoulder – making it look like an accident, as he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face.

" _Useless_ ," Renato snorted in Italian, putting his weapon away.

" _Ah, Skull,_ " Luce intervened, gently smiling – as always – speaking in Romanian to soothe him, " _If you go, don't forget about the mission!_ "

" _The Great Skull-sama will be there,"_  Skull assured her, immediately striking a pause and ignoring the way Renato itched for his gun again. " _You can count on me to help you!_ "

He burst out in obnoxious laughter, before 'catching sight' of the gun Renato had once more drawn on him. With an obvious, audible gulp, and a stuttered assurance that he  _wasn't_  feeling, he fled the room as quick as he could.

Gun shots rang behind him, and he all but jumped down the stairs, running even quicker in the corridors until he was outside. Once there, he grabbed hold of his helmet, put it on quickly, and without so much as a look behind him, he turned the engine of his bike on and sped away.

Only once he was safely far away from the meeting of the strongest seven did he allow his composure to shift to a genuine scowl, his posture relaxing.

What a bunch of morons.

Viper, out of all of them, was the only one who hadn't dismissed him immediately as a 'stupid, weak, incompetent civilian playing at being a big shot'.

(And that was probably only because they were his friend, and knew that Skull was just a persona, and that underneath that, Harry was both powerful and  _not even a civilian_. In another world, Vi might have made the same mistake as the others.)

For professionals, they certainly were quite adept at willful blindness. They forgot real quickly that Skull wasn't just a stunt driver, but a  _showman_. Acting was his job. Defying expectations  _while_  giving the audience exactly what they expected was his job. Misdirection was his specialty.

Stupid,  _stupid_  people, so secure in their own superiority to the 'civilian' that they overlooked him.

It made the whole thing even more unbearable than it would have been otherwise.

At the start of the meetings, a year ago, Skull had been willing to give them all a chance.

Lal, Renato, Verde, Fon – all of them had been given a chance.

Sure, seeing Renato and understanding that the man he'd spent a night with once was a  _hitman_  had been a shock. But Skull had overcome that because, truly? He didn't care much.

He knew that, as Harry, he'd enjoyed the man's company, and so he'd given him as much of a chance as the others, but that was all. Renato had been a  _fling_ , after all. Nothing vital, nothing that mattered. If the man proved to be a jerk, then good riddance. He had always been arrogant, after all.

Even Luce was given a chance, although he disliked the way she was not-so-subtly trying to harmonize with them despite not being able to form full Guardian bonds. As an ex-Sky, that sort of behaviour grated on his nerves, and as a Cloud it enraged him.

It was a shame too, they seemed like interesting people.

Maybe it was somewhat his fault, he would admit. He was paranoid, and didn't give his trust easily on a good day.

That had been  _threatened,_ via his  _family_ , into the whole thing? And being dragged into a criminal society to boot?

It wasn't just grating on his nerves and instincts, it was  _tap-dancing_  on them. So he  _had_  come into this in a bad mood, and unwilling to make this easy. Both on them and himself – because he blamed himself a little for accepting creepy guy's offer.

But then, none of them had even noticed this. They hadn't seen past his 'show persona', let alone his Skull persona. They were the ones refusing to give  _him_  a chance to prove himself. They had dismissed him, abused him, belittled him.

They had taken 'civilian' and 'pacifist' out of the introduction, and promptly decided that 'strongest Cloud of the world' wasn't worth a thing. When the whole  _mafia_  agreed on the fact that Clouds were powerful, scary motherfuckers on a good day!

Skull wasn't sure whether to find this exasperating or hilarious.

Besides, what part of 'pacifist' meant 'weak'? Not wanting to fight and not knowing  _how to_  fight were two different things. Skull knew how to fight. He just knew what sort of damage he could do with said fighting, and had seen enough hurt, death and destruction in his life without adding to it.

So he decided that, even though he could prove them wrong, he wouldn't. He was stronger than this – resolve and control were a kind of strength that few people really noticed. He  _would_  control himself, and his temper, and not put them in their places like he so dearly wanted to.

Skull just hoped they wouldn't get on his last nerves, because he really didn't want to loose it. But sometimes… Sometimes, he felt  _really_  close to snapping. Dangerously so.

Idiots had no idea what kind of dragon they were tickling;

It wasn't as if their abuse actually  _hurt._ He healed way too fast, and frankly he had taken  _torture_  before. Literal,  _every nerve on fire_  torture. A few kicks and insults thrown his way? Ha! That was  _nothing_.

He had never cared for a few wounds, never cared for bruises – be they physical or emotional. If it was what it took for him to stay there, and see this mess to the end, and then be  _free_  and his family  _safe…_  he would do it.

He would take every fucking hit, every fucking insult, and he would  _stay_.

Still. They were abusing him. They were  _trying_  to hurt him, to make him run away permanently, even though he  _couldn't._  Couldn't, and wouldn't.

Couldn't they  _see_  that if he was still there, despite it all, despite his 'cowardice', despite the abuse dished onto him, there had to be a reason?

Even the self-appointed genius, Verde, or the so-called mind reader Reborn – and oh, wasn't that  _funny_ , when Skull and Viper were the ones that could  _actually_  read minds if they wanted to – didn't see there was something wrong with the situation.

They didn't even  _guess_  that things weren't as they seemed. They didn't even ask, didn't even  _try_  to give him a chance, or something.

They  _knew_  he was ignorant, but didn't teach him. They  _knew_  he was weak compared to them, but didn't help him get better. They bullied him, when they should have been his  _mentors_.

He was the youngest of them all, the civilian, the innocent – or so they thought. And they decided that mistreating him was the way to go.

It made Skull's blood  _boil_.

He had fought a  _war_  when he was a child. He had  _taught_  other children, actual ignorant civilian innocents. He had taught them how to survive, had helped them, had made sure that there would be one less dead body by the end of it.

Maybe they thought they were 'helping' him, toughening him or whatever cheap excuses they were using this week.

The truth of the matter was, they had over-sized egos that had been bruised by a 'civilian' being one of them, and they had decided that Skull would make a magnificent scapegoat for all their insecurities and pent-up frustrations.

Of course, he  _was_  the weakest, and the most ignorant of them. He could pack a punch, and do gravity defying stunts, and heal fast, but that was it. Without his magic – and Viper had warned him against breaking the Statute of Secrecy, not that he would have because  _hello, paranoid bastard with trust issues_  – he was just your regular, if a bit stronger and more fight-honed guy.

Oh, but give him his wand, or even what little he could do  _wandless_  – and he was getting much better at that – and he would  _obliterate them_  without breaking a sweat.

Skull was strong without magic. But with it? He was  _the fucking best_.

They just had no idea, and frankly he had no desire to tell them. He didn't trust them, and didn't really like them – although he was getting somewhat used to their antics.

So Skull had decided,  _screw them_ , and had simply remained in full show persona, determined to make it all as unpleasant for them as they made it for him. If they made no effort, then neither would he. They wanted him weak and annoying? Well, then. He would fucking deliver, with the compliments of the chef!

It made for interesting times, at least, and a good control exercise. His patience had reached new heights! He wouldn't snap, no sir. He was stronger than that, even if no one knew it. It was kind of sweet, to pull that sort of passive-aggressive blink-and-you-miss-it move on the so-called best.

Fucking with them and  _knowing_  he was pulling the wool over all of their eyes was just a bonus. He would just have a good laugh over their stupidity and blindness over a cup of tea with Viper later.

(Or maybe he would go blow off some steam first, in the Den's training room. Because as much as he found their stupidity ridiculous and funny on a good day, it was almost chilling to see how easily they were being led around by the nose.

The only reason  _he_  wasn't being manipulated so expertly was because he had  _already_  gone through manipulations like that, and  _knew_  something was wrong. That, and the threat hanging over his family, that made it  _impossible_  for him to even  _relax_.)

There was a buzz, dragging him away from unpleasant thoughts.

It came from the calling device that he had integrated to his helmet – it was  _very_  convenient, when driving. With barely a touch, Skull took the call.

" _Skull DeMort,_ " he greeted cheerfully.

" _Skull,_ " Viper's voice said, adding in French, " _You owe me an explanation_."

Well, Skull thought wryly, it was better than owing them money – or food. Maybe Vi was starting to mellow out?

" _And a fee for leaving me alone_ ," Viper went on.

 _Or not_ , Skull thought with a fond eye-roll.

" _Sure,_ " he said, knowing better than to argue. He kept his eyes on the road, as he said, " _You know how I told you I had a bad feeling about this whole thing_?"

" _Yes,_ " Viper answered shortly.

Because it had been the first thing Skull had done, after the first meeting, during that evening where they both had gotten drunk.

He had told Viper that it wasn't wise, that they shouldn't have accepted the missions –  _no matter how much they were getting paid, you miser_. He'd told them about his gut feeling, about the not-so-subtle threat that had made him accept, and about the fact that Luce's behaviour was grating on his nerves.

Viper had been very dubious, but in the end had admitted that the whole thing was a bit weird.

Still, the pay was wonderful, and the fact that they were part of the strongest seven was an ego boost.

That, and the allure of a Sky strong enough to pull them in, was enough to make them stay anyway. Not that they had quite admitted it that way. But after the explanations over flames and the problem that strong elements faced when searching for harmony, Skull had guessed it. He couldn't blame Vi for seeking a bond that was  _home_  and  _unconditional acceptance_.

Viper had agreed, though, that if things went south, they should have an escape plan – or six of them, to fit their paranoia. Skull didn't like it, but he'd relented to having his friend in this mess with him.

At least, Viper had explained the mafia and the flames to him. Something that  _no one else_  had thought to do.

Skull wasn't even sure he would have  _known_  that he used to be a Sky, before he became a Cloud, if not for Viper's explanation. Let it be said, the both of them had needed a bit more alcohol in the wake of  _that_ revelation. The idea that if Voldemort hadn't messed with Harry's soul, they might have harmonized - that they had been in the process of doing exactly that, and it was why they'd become friends so fast, before they went their separate ways and then the war happened - was a mind boggling one.

Skull didn't really like to know that even in his death, Voldemort had managed to fuck him up even more, and even fuck up his relationship with many other people.

But he had to admit, he was rather glad he  _knew_  why he acted the way he did towards his family and friends. And it was all thanks to Viper's explanations.

Viper really was a great friend, and Skull  _hated_  that the Mist wouldn't run away from this mess.

Which is why he went on, still in French.

" _Well, it's getting worse,_ " he said, " _I have the feeling that this mission will be our last._ "

" _...We won't die,_ " Viper said, flatly.

" _No,_ " Skull admitted, because he was pretty sure it wasn't  _that_  that made him jittery, because death had never bothered him. It had to be something else, " _But something_ will _go wrong._ "

For a long while, Viper was silent, and Skull simply sped up on the roads, eager to get to his caravan and then to get  _home_. To the Den where his son and his  _family_  were waiting for him.

The caravan, his home at the circus, was a rather large detour, but Skull couldn't afford not to make it. Not when Creepy Dude in the Iron Hat had already so much on him. If he needed to take a detour to get inside the caravan, make it seem like he  _stayed there_ , and then apparate or portkey to his home, safely and unnoticed by any watcher that might be there, then Skull would do so.

His family's safety came first. It always did, and always would. It was why he was in the mess in the first place, and he wouldn't fuck it up.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably more like ten minutes, Viper inquired.

" _What are you going to do?_ " They asked.

" _I don't have a choice, do I?_ " Skull snorted. " _I'm in this mess 'til the end, and I'll see it through, unless I find an escape._ " Viper didn't answer, and Skull sighed. " _I'm going home, to Andy and Teddy. I'm spending the week with them, with the family, and preparing for the worst cases scenarios. I'm telling you, Vi, something's going to happen._ "

"... _I see,_ " Viper said, and there was something dark in their tone, something that promised that they wouldn't go down quietly if that mission  _did_  prove to be a trap of some kind, " _Expect me for dinner Wednesday evening. I want blueberry tart._ "

" _Of course, Vi,_ " Skull said, fondly. " _Teddy will be happy to see you. I'll invite Bill and Fleur, too. See you Wednesday._ "

Viper gave a short goodbye, and hung up, Skull doing the same only moments later. With a small smile, he angled his body ever so slightly, swerving to the right between two cars.

If he only had one week left, he would have to get home quicker to make the most of it.

 

 

 

"Mind if I sit?" Renato asked, and relished in the way the young man at the bar all but jumped in fright.

"Wh-  _Renato!_ " Harry groused, somewhere between surprised, annoyed and mildly amused.

Renato smiled at him, and took the seat, ordering two drinks. Next to him, Harry rolled his eyes, and sipped the rest of his glass. They both remained silent, the British young man seeming to be assessing Renato. The hitman could certainly understand why.

To find each other  _again_ , in a bar in the middle of  _China_  was very suspicious.

Only the fact that his gut wasn't finding anything fishy, and the genuine surprise he'd seen on the other's face, made him believe that it was just a lucky coincidence. There wasn't anything suspicious around, no one looking at them wrong. No trap. Just a coincidence.

Apparently, from Harry's huff as he started on the drink Renato had ordered for him, the young man had finally concluded to the same thing.

Or maybe had accepted that Renato wasn't a figment of his imagination and wasn't going to leave him alone.

"We have to stop meeting like this," he said wryly, sending the hitman a small grin over his drink. "Or I'll start to think you're stalking me."

"I could say the same," Renato retorted, and smiled when the young man admitted the point with a nod. "So, Harry, what brings you to this charming little city?"

"Sight-seeing," Harry replied. "You?"

"Business," Renato answered.

Harry hummed a little at that, his eyes – still so very green, still so very gorgeous – getting a far away look. Lost in thoughts. Renato left him to it.

There was  _something_ , a tension in the air, that was unusual. Maybe it came from him, maybe it was the fact that he would be going on another mission with the strongest seven the next day.

His instincts gave a twinge at that, reminding him of the growing sense that something was  _off_. Usually, Renato would have taken those instincts to heart, and would have cancelled the mission immediately to disappear off the face of the earth for a little while.

But he was drunk on Sky flames and the feeling of a fledgling guardian bond, and he had been so bored and so desperate to find harmony that he ignored it – after all, he was the Greatest Hitman in the World, what could happen?

Shoving the thoughts down ruthlessly, Renato decided that his paranoia was the reason something was off in the air tonight. That, and maybe the fact that Harry seemed oddly serious, and a bit sad too.

"Your son isn't with you?" Renato asked eventually, remembering the little,  _colourful_ , bundle of energy. He wracked his brain for the name of the woman that had been with them the last time they met, "Andy either?"

"Ah, no," Harry said, coming out of his thoughtful state and giving a small, slightly tense smile, "No, they're not with me." He sighed. "I left them at home, for this trip. I needed some time alone."

"I see," Renato said. Maybe  _that_  was the source of the tension. Harry was feeling blue. "Is my company unwanted, then?"

For a moment, Harry simply looked at him, his gaze indecipherable and intense. Then his smile, that had been so oddly small and sad, grew a little more genuine and amused. By what, Renato wondered. Maybe the flirting – it had seemed to amuse him last time too.

"No,  _Renato_ ," he said, and the way he said his name sent tingles down his spine, "Your company isn't unwanted."

"I'm glad," Renato all but purred, finding himself falling back into habits of playful, flirting banter, "I wouldn't want to leave you to fend the cold nights all alone."

"My hero," Harry said with a mock-swoon. "Whatever would I do without you?"

"I'm sure you would manage," Renato said, magnanimously.

"Oh, I'm sure I would," Harry agreed, before arching a brow. "The question is, would  _you_?"

"Oh?" Renato said, his own eyebrow climbing. "Is that doubt in my skill I hear?"

"Maybe," Harry said, grinning, "So many years without my company… You might have gone rusty."

"Well, I guess I'll have to dispel  _that_  idea quickly," Renato said.

"Not  _too_  quick, I hope," Harry said.

There was enough innuendoes in that sentence to make Renato snort in amusement.

Harry grinned, and took a sip of his drink – all the while wondering distantly if he should really be flirting with the man, again.

Their meeting in that bar  _was_  a coincidence, but not completely. After all, Harry knew very well that they were both here for the same thing. Sight-seeing, business, it was the same – the next morning, they would both find the meeting place at the edge of the town, and head to the mountains.

Climb a mountain to find a treasure. What a very odd mission.

Once again, Harry's intuition gave a grim tinge, confirming yet again that this mission would go wrong.

It was probably why he was still sitting there, flirting with Renato. His gut was telling him that it would be the last time in a long while, if ever, that the both of them would have the occasion of getting some fun.

He had hesitated to agree, on the grounds that, as  _Skull_ , Renato was completely awful with him.

Sure, he could take it, and some days he even found it somewhat humorous to rile the hitman up and then flail around like an idiot while the other shot at him. He certainly found the fact that they actually  _believed_  his act funny, when he was in the mood.

But even so, sometimes he  _wasn't_  in the mood, and Renato's actions and words were truly terrible towards him. Reminded him of his childhood, of a conditioning, of abuse that he was still  _struggling_  to get rid of.

Of course, Harry could understand Renato's point of view somewhat.

To him, and the others, to have  _Skull_ , a civilian stuntman that didn't have a clue about flames, fighting and the mafia, grouped with them as the strongest seven… It was an insult to their pride, to their professions.

That Skull didn't take the missions seriously, and that he  _clearly_  disliked Luce, made it worse.

Yet, Renato actually  _liked_  Harry. Probably because Harry wasn't supposed to be anything but a civilian man, a stranger he had a fling with once, and that Renato thus didn't compare him to anyone else. Didn't take offense to his very existence.

That, and Skull was a bit annoying, while Harry wasn't, (well, not unless he wanted to be).

It was only because he understood that, to an extent, and because of his feeling that everything would go  _wrong_  that Harry was still there, flirting as if nothing was wrong.

Because damn it, if it was the last time he  _could_  get laid, he was going to do so. Even if it was with Renato.

Hell, who was he kidding.

 _Especially_  if it was with Renato. As much as he disliked him at the moment, sex with the man was amazing.

Maybe it was cruel of him to take advantage of Renato that way – he knew who Renato was, knew something was off, and the hitman didn't. Maybe he should tell him.

But Harry was no saint, and Renato  _was_  awful with him when he was Skull.

"Well,  _bellissimo,_ " Harry eventually said, smiling at the Sun user, "How about that fight against the cold and the loneliness you promised me?"

Yes, he thought as Renato smirked at him, he would simply let things be. Renato was a great lover, but he didn't deserve his compassion. He was the 'greatest hitman in the world', after all. If he couldn't deal with a problem without Harry warning him about it, he didn't deserve that title.

At least, they would both have gotten laid before the shit hit the fan.

 

 

 

Andromeda hadn't been able to sleep. Ever since Harry had left for that mission in China, she had been restless.

 _Something will go wrong,_  Harry had said, with the certainty of a man that had seen his fair share of plans going pear-shaped. With the same certainty of the teenager that had once walked willingly to his death he had added,  _I'm not sure I'll be able to come back._

Teddy was young, almost too young to understand, but even he had known something was wrong. He had been clingy all week, and Harry had let him, spending all his free time hugging his son – for Teddy  _was_  his son, in all but blood. Andromeda had gotten hugs too, freely given, sometimes a bit too tight to be anything but desperate.

In fact, everyone in the family had gotten hugs when they had visited, something that had clearly put them off. Harry was  _not_  someone that hugged people for no reason. He sought contact with loved ones to comfort – either them or himself. He had been very tactile after the war, and kept being so with Teddy, but otherwise still avoided too much contact.

She wasn't sure what the worst thing was.

Was it the way Harry simply accepted that he was walking into a trap of some sort? Was it the way he had cried when Teddy had been asleep, before leaving the house? Was it the way he had cooked their favourite meals, and had even hugged Viper when the illusionist had come for dinner, despite the fact that they  _both_ weren't tactile persons?

Or maybe it was the way Andromeda was now waiting for the young man she saw as a nephew – almost a son – to come back.

Teddy had been waiting too, for three days now –  _three days since Harry had gone, and no word from him_  – for his father to come back. He stayed up late, he woke up in the middle of the night. He was just as restless as his grandmother. Only the fact that he had been awake for so long, working himself up to a frenzy, had exhausted him so utterly that he was now sleeping. Curled up in Andromeda's bed in her stead, while she waited in the kitchen for  _something_.

It was so late, and she was so very tired, and yet she couldn't sleep. Memories of the war kept flashing through her head, as she recalled waiting then too. Keeping the radio close, listening to the names of the dead, waiting to hear if her husband, or her daughter would be among them. Keeping her wand just as close, and the first-aid kit, because maybe they would stumble home bloody and she would have to fix them up.

She had fought, during the war, and she had waited. A lot.

In the end, fighting hadn't done much, and waiting neither. Her husband had been killed on the run, and then her daughter in the last battle at Hogwarts. Teddy was all she had left.

Teddy, and Harry. Harry who had fought and  _died_  for them. Who had cried with her at Nymphadora and Remus' burial. Who had held Teddy so tenderly but with an absolutely terrified expression on his face.

"I have no idea how to raise a kid," he'd said, holding Teddy like he was the most precious thing in the world and he was afraid he would break him. "What do I do, Andy?"

Andy hadn't known Harry Potter very well, but she got to know  _Harry_ , her grandson's godfather. The tired teen – young man – that woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares and cooked pancakes for her, and who hummed lullabies for Teddy even though the little boy had kept him awake for hours. The one that had been the glue between so many people, and who loved to travel and loved to have 'family reunions' equally.

 _If she lost Harry as well_ , she had realized one day, as she watched him laugh as he hugged Teddy, flour all over them,  _It would break her._

Andromeda tightened her hold on the radio, silent and cold, even as she hunched on herself over the counter. The kitchen was painfully silent and empty, only a clock ticking to let her know that the earth was still turning, that it was all real. That she was alone, and Teddy asleep in the next room, waiting, like she always did.

Then suddenly there was a sharp crack, and before she could even think about it she was out of her seat – letting the radio drop to the ground in her hurry. The sound had come from her room, where Teddy was.

Andromeda was ready to fight off any intruder, as she barged into the room, flashes of white masks and dark robes drowning her mind- but she came up short.

Next to Teddy, standing over her grandson, with a stillness that wasn't natural for a small child, was a baby. She stayed still, her mind coming to a halt, even a she tried to understand what was going on. She lit her wand.

The light illuminated the baby's purple hair, and Andromeda froze. After what seemed like an eternity, the baby turned towards her. Face pale like death, over-the-top make-up, piercings… Skull's too-young face contorted in a grimace of a smile.

"Hey, Andy," he greeted, and his voice was too high-pitched, his words clumsy.

"Harry," she breathed, relief at war with confusion.

"You're so big," Harry – Skull – said, softly. Then, turning to Teddy, his voice broke, the way a child's voice did before they started crying, the way Harry's voice had done when they had buried the dead after the battle, and he breathed, "He's so  _big_."

Andromeda didn't even think. She put her wand back in her sleeve, and came to sweep the child up in her arms. Harry stiffened, but let her carry him out of the room and into the kitchen. When they arrived there, they both ignored the broken radio on the ground, and Andy didn't comment on the fact that Skull's purple hair was the only thing she could see – he had buried his face in her shoulder.

For the longest time they stayed like this, sitting in the kitchen, Andromeda hugging Skull tightly as sobs racked his frame. She wasn't sure why he was crying that way, wasn't sure if she should be afraid or relieved that he was  _home_  and  _alive_.

Eventually, he calmed down, and settled in her lap, looking terribly miserable. Still, Harry had developed the habit, after the war, of smiling even when he wasn't happy and so he smiled at her – small and tense and sad. Andy smiled back, the same way.

"You're alive," she said, because it bore stating aloud.

"Yes," Harry said, and there was the barest hint of relief in his voice. It was soon swallowed by an odd sort of bitter grief, as he added, "But it  _did_  go wrong."

And he told her of climbing the mountain with the others. Of how they suddenly hadn't been able to move. Of the light that had flashed, and the pain of the shift. Of the weight of a Curse – with a capital letter – settling on his shoulder, and another one settling around his neck. Of the confusion, the anger, the grief. Of Luce's betrayal because  _she had known_. Of how he'd left the others after just a day, because he didn't want to break down in front of them – because he'd thought he wouldn't break down. Of how he had even left Vi, because suddenly he remembered that there were people waiting for him at home.

"I'm so small," he said, in a choked up voice. "I can't hold Teddy any more. How am I supposed to raise him when I'm younger than him?"

"We'll find a way," Andromeda told him, "We will. I'm here to help." She smiled a bit wanly. "We've lived through worse. Seen more terrible curses. There must be a way to break this one."

"Yeah," Harry didn't sound like he quite believed that, but he still nodded.

Andy nodded back, and started making plans. Surely, out of everyone in their large, odd family, there was  _someone_  who could find a solution.

There had to be.

 

 

 

Being Cursed was better than being dead.

Harry could still see his friends, and raise his son, and cook by using his magic more than his hands. He could still drive a bike, having shrunk his own – the one Sirius had gifted him when he had been a teenager. He could do all sort of things, and he didn't have to leave anyone behind.

Some days, though, being Cursed felt like the worst choice.

He couldn't hug Teddy any more. He couldn't do the same stunts as before, his body too small. He couldn't work at the circus, couldn't perform in front of an audience. He wasn't free to act as he pleased – so many people stared at him for being a toddler, some cooing over him and asking where his parents were, none of them leaving him on his own.

Harry had to adjust to his home, to everything again. He had to learn to adapt to a new size, to a new strength that didn't fit his body, to the Curse siphoning his flames constantly. His magic sometimes reacted weirdly, as if it wasn't sure if he was too young or too strong.

He had a weight on his shoulders, and the terrible knowledge that one day the Curse would end but it wouldn't be the way his friends hoped – he wouldn't become adult again, he would just die.

He had to live, as a toddler, with the knowledge that his days were counted, that maybe one day he wouldn't wake up, and would leave everyone behind, without a warning.

It was horrible, seeing Teddy grow up while he remained small, having to look up to his own son. Of course, he wasn't showing it, but sometimes he  _yearned_  for his adult body. He wanted to be able to bake without magic and clumsy movement. He wanted to be able to play Quidditch with his family. He wanted to be able to eat something spicy without his face puffing up, and to be able to have sleep-overs with his friends without fearing they would crush him in his sleep.

He wanted to stand  _besides_  Teddy at his wedding with Victoire, like the proud father he was, instead of being perched on his shoulder like a child-looking parasite.

So, because of all that, and a hundred thousands more reasons, Harry was glad that his friends helped searching for a cure.

Vi searched as well.

It might be a bit selfish, because he still wished that Viper  _hadn't_  been cursed, but still… Harry was glad Vi was with him in that mess. It helped.

The both of them were in the same spot. Both babies having to look up at the family dinners, having to adjust to the same things. Viper was an even more regular visitor nowadays, taking the same comfort as him in the familiarity of it all. Their family – even if Vi was still a bit shy about belonging – did their best to treat them as if nothing had changed, and it was nice.

They still searched for a way to break the curse, though.

Harry knew that, out there, the other arcobalenos – it was what they were called now – were searching desperately for a solution as well. He was almost sympathetic to them, as they all had been tricked into it – unlike him, who had  _known_  it would go wrong. And unlike him, they had no prior experience to curses and life-changing events like that.

It was perhaps why he didn't cut all ties with them. Damn his too big, too forgiving heart. He couldn't help it, and kept an eye out for them – though they didn't need it.

That's how he knew they were all still searching for a way out.

His gut, the same instinct that had told him it would all go wrong, told him it was useless, though.  _There is no solution, no cure_ , it seemed to whisper.

 

 

 

(Then one day, decades later, the feeling changed, to something akin to hope.  _There might be a solution, eventually_.

Skull would realize, much later, that on this day, Sawada Tsunayoshi had met Reborn.

But that was a story for another day.)

 

 

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This was, indeed, the last chapter. I hope you all enjoyed the ride!  
> For anyone interested in more, don't hesitate to subscribe to the 'on laughter-silvered wings' series - because, yes, there will be more. I have a spin off already written, and ready to go.  
> I will be posting it very soon, so keep an eye out for it!  
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to comment if you've enjoyed! Your support is always greatly appreciated!


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